THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE 01 ^ n^' //;f SUNRISE A STORY OF THESE TIMES BY WILLIAM BLACK AUTHOR ot"' "MACLEOD OF DARE " "THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON" "a princess of THULE" "madcap VIOLET " ETC., ETC. NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIX SQUARE 1881 WILLIAM BLACK'S NOVELS. LIBRARY EDITION. SUNRISE. l!!mo, Cloth, $1 55. MACLEOD OF DARE. lU'd. 15mo, Cloth, $1 25. GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. I2mo, Cloth, $1 23. MADCAP VIOLET. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. THREE FEATHERS. lU'd. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 12mo, Cloth, |1 25. A PRINCESS OF THULE. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. IN SILK ATTIRE. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. KILMENY. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. WHITE WINGS. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. POPULAR EDITIONS. MACLEOD OF DARE. 8vo, Paper, Illustrated, GO cents ; 4to, Paper, 10 cents. GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. MADCAP VIOLET. 8to, Paper, 50 cents. THREE FEATHERS. Ill'd. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. A PRINCESS OF THULE. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. IN SILK ATTIRE. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. SUNRISE. 4to, Paper, 15 cents. KILMENY. 8to, Paper, 35 cents. LOVE OR MARRIAGE? 8vo, Paper, 30 cents. THE MAID OF KILLEENA, THE MARRIAGE OF MOIRA FERGUS, and Other Stories. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. THE MONARCH OF MINCING LANE. 8vo, Pa- per, 50 cents. THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. WHITE WINGS. 4to, Paper, 10 cents. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. {^ Any of the above volumta will he tent by mail, pmtage prepaid, to any part of thu United Stalei, on receipt of the price. CONTENTS, CHAPTIB TACS I. A FIRST INTERVIEW 5 II. PLEADINGS 13 III. IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET 19 IV. A STRANGER 28 V. PIONEERS 35 VI. BON VOYAGE ! 43 VII. IN SOLITUDE 51 VIII. A DISCOVERY 58 IX. A NIGHT IN VENICE . 66 X. VACILLATION 72 XI. A COMMISSION 80 XII. JACTA EST ALEA 88 XIII. SOUTHWARD 96 XIV. A RUSSIAN EPISODE 103 XV. NEW FRIENDS Ill XVL A LETTER 119 XVII. CALABRESSA 126 XVIII. HER ANSWER 134 XIX. AT THE CULTCRVEREIN 142 XX. FIDELIO 149 XXI. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 157 xxir. EVASIONS 164 XXIII. A TALISMAN 172 XXIV. AN ALTERNATIVE 180 XXV. A friend's ADVICE 187 XXVI. A PROMISE 195 XXVII. KIRSKI 203 XXVIII. A CLIMAX 210 XXIX. A GOOD-NIGHT MESSAGE 218 XXX. SOME TREASURES 226 XXXI. IN A GARDEN AT POSILIPO 233 XXXII. FRIEND AND SWEETHEART 241 XXXni. INTERVENTION 249 4 CONTENTS. CH^PTEB rjISB xxxTV. AN ENCOinrrER 257 XXXT. THE MOTHER 264 XXXVI. THE VELVET GLOVE 2*72 XXXVIl. SANTA CLAUS 280 XXXVin. A SUMMONS 287 XXXIX. A NEW HOME 295 XL. A CONCLAVE 802 XLL IN THE DEEPS 310 XLII. ,A COMMUNICATION 318 XLIII. A QUARREL 325 XLIV. A TWICE-TOLD TALE 332 XLV. SOUTHWARD 340 XLVI. THE BEECHES 346 XL VII. AT PORTICI 354 XLVIII. AN APPEAL 362 XLIS. AN EMISSARY 371 L. A WEAK BROTHER 378 LI. THE CONJURER 386 LII. FIAT JUSTITIA 393 LIU. THE TRIAL 401 LTV. PUT TO THE PROOF 408 LV, CONGRATULATIONS 415 LVI. A COMMISSION 424 Lvn. farewell! 431 LVin. A SACRIFICE 439 LIX. NATALIE SPEAKS 447 LX NEW SHORES 456 S TJ isr E I S E. , CHAPTER I. A FIRST INTERVIEW. One chilly afternoon in February, while as yet the London season had not quite begun, though the streets were busy enough, an open barouche was being rapidly driven along Piccadilly in the direction of Coventry Street ; and its two occupants, despite the dull roar of vehicles around them, seemed to be engaged in eager conversation. One of these two was a tall, handsome, mus- cular-looking man of about thirty, with a sun-tanned face, pierc- ing gray eyes, and a reddish-brown beard cropped in the foreign fashion ; the other, half hidden among the voluminous furs of the carriage, was a pale, hump-backed lad, with a fine, expressive, in- tellectual face, and large, animated, almost woman-like eyes. The former was George Brand, of Brand Beeches, Bucks, a bachelor unattached, and a person of no particular occupation, except that he had tumbled about the world a good deal, surveying mankind with more or less of interest or indifference. His companion and friend, the bright-eyed, beautiful-faced, hump-backed lad, was Ernest Francis D'Agincourt, thirteenth Baron Evelyn. The discussion was warm ; though the elder of the two friends spoke deprccatingly, at times even scornfully. "I know what is behind all that," he said. "They are making a dupe of you, Evelyn. A parcel of miserable Leicester Square conspirators, plundering the working-man of all countries of his small savings, and humbugging him with promises of twopenny- halfpenny revolutions ! That is not the sort of thing for you to mix in. It is not English, all that dagger and dark-lantern busi- SUNRISE. ness, even if it were real ; but when it is only theatrical — ^Yllen they are only stage daggers — when the wretched creatures who mouth about assassination and revolution are only swaggering for half-pence — bah ! What part do you propose to play ?" "I tell vou it has nothin"; to do with dao,'u;ers and dark Ian- terns," said the other, with even greater warmth. " Why will you run your head against a w-indraill ? Why must you see far- ther into a mile-stone than anybody else? I wonder, with all your travelling, you have not got rid of some of that detestable Eng- lish prejudice and suspicion. I tell you that when I am allowed, even as an outsider, to see something of this vast organization for the defence of the oppressed, for the protection of the weak, the vindication of the injured, in every country throughout the globe — when I see the splendid possibilities before it — when I find that even a useless fellow like myself may do some little thing to lessen the mighty mass of injustice and wrong in the world — well, I am not going to stop to see that every one of my associ- ates is of pure English birth, with a brother-in-law on the Bench, and an uncle in the House of Lords. I am glad enough to have something to do that is worth doing; something to believe in; something to hope for. You — what do you believe in ? What is there in heaven or earth that you believe in?" " Suppose I say that I believe in you, Evelyn ?" said his friend, quite good-naturedly; "and some day, when j'on can convince me that your newly discovered faith is all right, you may find me becoming your meek disciple, and even your apostle. But I shall want something more than Union speeches, you know." By this time the carriage had passed along Coventry Street, turned into Prince's Street, and been pulled up opposite a com- monplace-looking house in that distinctly dingy thoroughfare, Lisle Street, Soho. " Not quite Leicester Square, but near enough to serve," said Brand, with a contemptuous laugh, as he got out of the barouche, and then, with the greatest of care and gentleness, assisted his companion to alight. They crossed the pavement and rang a bell. Almost instantly the door was opened by a stout, yellow-haired, blear-eyed old man, who wore a huge overcoat adorned with masses of shabby fur, and who carried a small lamp in his hand, for the afternoon had grown to dusk. The two visitors were evidently expected. Uav- A FIRST INTEKVXENV. ing given the younger of them a deeply respectful greeting in German, the fur-coated old gentleman shut the door after them, and proceeded to show the way up a flight of narrow and not particularly clean wooden stairs. "Conspiracy doesn't seem to pay," remarked George Brand, half to himself. On the landing they were confronted by a number of doors, one of which the old German threw open. They entered a large, plainly furnished, well-lit room, looking pretty much like a mer- chant's office, though the walls were mostly hung with maps and plans of foreign cities. Brand looked round with a supercilious air. All his pleasant and friendly manner had gone. He was evidently determined to make himself as desperately disagreea- ble as an Englishman can make himself when introduced to a foreigner whom he suspects. But even he would have had to confess that there was no suggestion of trap -doors or sliding panels in this ordinary, business-like room ; and not a trace of a dao-o-er or a dark lantern anywhere. Presently, from a door opposite, an elderly man of middle height and spare and sinewy frame walked briskly in, shook hands with Lord Evelyn, was introduced to the tall, red-bearded Englishman (who still stood, hat in hand, and with a portentous stillness in his demeanor), begged his two guests to be seated, and himself sat down at an open bureau, which was plentifully littered with papers. " I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Brand," he said, speaking carefully, and with a considerable foreign accent. " Lord Eve- lyn has several times promised me the honor of making your ac- quaintance." Mr. Brand merely bowed : he was intent on making out what manner of man this suspected foreigner might be ; and he was puzzled. At first sight Ferdinand Lind appeared to be about fifty or fifty-five years of age; his closely cropped hair was gray; and his face, in repose, somewhat care-worn. But then when he spoke there was an almost youthful vivacity in his look ; his dark eyes were keen, quick, sympathetic ; and there was even a certain careless ease about his dress — about the turned-down col- lar and French-looking neck-tie, for example — that had more of the air of the student than of the pedant about it. All this at the first glance. It was only afterward you came to perceive 8 SUNRISE. what was denoted by tliose lieavy, seamed brows, the firm, strong mouth, and the square line of the jaw. These told you of the presence of an indomitable and inflexible will. Here was a man born to think, and control, and command. " With that prospect before me," he continued, apparently taking no notice of the Englishman's close scrunity, " I must ask you, Mr. Brand — well, you know, it is merely a matter of form — but I must ask you to be so very kind as to give me your word of honor that you will not disclose anything you may see or learn here. Have you any objection ?" Brand stared, then said, coldly, " Oh dear, no. I will give you that pledge, if you wish it." " It is so easy to deal with Englishmen," said Mr. Lind, polite- ly. "A word, and it is done. But I suppose Lord Evelyn has told you that we have no very desperate secrets. Secrecy, you know, one must use sometimes ; it is an inducement to many — most people are fond of a little mystery ; and it is harmless." Brand said nothing; Lord Evelyn thought he might have been at least civil. But when an Englishman is determined on being stiff, his stiffness is gigantic. " If I were to show you some of the tricks of this very room," said this grizzled old foreigner with the boyish neck-tie, " you might call me a charlatan ; but would that be fair ? We have to make use of various means for what we consider a good end, a noble end ; and there are many people who love mystery and secrecy. With you English it is different — you must have ev- erything above-board." The pale, fine face of the sensitive lad sitting there became clouded over with disappointment. He had brought this old friend of his with some vague hope that he might become a con- vert, or at least be sufficiently interested to make inquiries ; but Brand sat silent, with a cold indifference that was only the out- ward sign of an inward suspicion. "Sometimes, it is true," continued Mr. Lind, in nowise discon- certed, " we stumble on the secrets of others. Our association has innumerable feelers; and we make it our business to know what we can of everything that is going on. For example, I could tell you of an odd little incident that occurred last year in Constantinople. A party of four gentlemen were playing cards there in a private room." A FIRST INTERVIEW. 9 Brand started. The man who was speaking took no notice. " There were two Austrian officers, a Roumanian count, and an Enfflisliman," he continued, in the most matter-of-fact wav. " It was in a private room, as I said. The EnoHshman was, after a time, convinced that the Roumanian was cheating ; he caught his wrist — showed the false cards ; then he managed to ward off the blow of a dagger which the Roumanian aimed at him, and by main force carried him to the door and threw him down-stairs. It was cleverly done, but the Englishman was very big and strong. Afterward the two Austrian officers, who knew the Verdt family, begged the Englishman never to reveal what had occurred ; and the three promised secrecy. AVas not that so ?" The man looked up carelessly. The Englishman's apathy was no longer visible. " Y-yes," he stammered. "Would you like to know what became of Count Verdt?" he asked, with an air of indifference. " Yes, certainly," said the other. "Ah ! Of course you know the Castel' del Ovo ?" "At Naples? Yes." "You remember that out at the point, beside the way that leads from the shore to the fortress, there are many big rocks, and the waves roll about there. Three weeks after you caught Count Verdt cheating at cards, his dead body was found floating there." " Gracious heavens !" Brand exclaimed, with his face grown pale. And then he added, breathlessly, " Suicide ?" Mr. Lind smiled. " No. Reassure yourself. "When they picked out the body from the water, they found the mouth gagged, and the hands tied behind the back." Brand stared at this man* "Then you — ?" He dared not complete the question. " I ? Oh, I had nothing to do with it, any more than yourself. It was a Camorra affair." He had been speaking quite indifferently ; but now a singular change came over his manner. " And if I had had something to do with it ?" he said, vehe- mently ; and the dark eyes were burning with a quick anger un- der the heavy brows. Then he spoke more slowly, but with a 1* 10 SUNRISE. firm emphasis in his speech. " I will tell you a little story ; it will not detain you, sir. Suppose that you have a prison so over- stocked with political prisoners that you must keep sixty or sev- enty in the open yard adjoining the outer wall. You have little to fear; they are harmless, poor wretches; there are several old men — two women. Ah I but what are the poor devils to do in those long nights that are so dark and so cold ? However they may huddle together, they freeze ; if they keep not moving, thoy die ; you find them dead in the morning. If you are a Czar yoa are glad of that, for your prisons are choked ; it is very conven- ient. And then suppose you have a clever fellow who finds out a narrow passage between the implement-house and the wall ; and he says, ' Tliere, you can work all night at digging a passage out ; and who in the morning will suspect?' Is not that a fine discov- ery, when one must keep moving in the dark to prevent one's self stifiiening into a corpse ? Oh yes ; then you find the poor devils, in their madness, begin to tear the ground up ; what tools have they but their fingers, when the implcment-hcnise is locked ? The poor devils ! — old men, too, and women ; and how they take their turn at the slow work, hour after hour, week after week, all through the long, still nights! Inch by inch it is; and the poor devils become like rabbits, burrowing for a hole to reach the outer air; and do you know that, after a time, the first wounds heal, and your fingers become like stumps of iron — " He held out his two hands ; the ends of the fino'ers were seam- ed and corrugated, as if they had been violently scalded. But he could not hold them steady — they were trembling with the suppressed passion that made his whole frame tremble. "Relay after relay, night after night, week after week, month after month, until those poor devils of rabbits had actually bur- rowed a passage out into the freedom of God's world again. And some said the Czar himself had heard of it, and would not inter- fere, for the prisons were choked ; and some said the wife of the governor was Polish, and had a kind heart ; but what did it mat- ter when the time was drawing near? And always this clever fellow — do you know, sir, his name was Verdt too ? — encourag- ing, helping, goading these poor people on. Then the last night — how the miserable rabbits of creatures kept huddled together, shivering in the dark, till the hour arrived ! and then the death- like stillness they found outside; and the wild wonder and fear A FIRST INTERVIEW. 11 of it ; and the old men and the women crying like children to find themselves in the free air again. Marie Falevitch — that was my sister-in-law — she kissed me, and was laughing when she whispered, ^Eljen a hazaP I think she was a little off her head with the long, sleepless nights." He stopped for a second ; his throat seemed choked. "Did I tell you they had all got out? — the poor devils all wondering there, and scarcely knowing where to go. And now suppose, sir — ah ! you don't know anything about these things, you happy English people — suppose you found the black night around you all at once turned to a blaze of fire — a red hell open- ed on all sides of you, and the bullets ploughing your comrades down ; the old men crying for mercy, tlie young ones falling only with a groan ; the women — my God ! Did you ever hear a wom- an shriek when she was struck through the heart with a bullet? Marie Falevitch fell at my feet, but I could not raise her — I was struck down too. It was a week after that I came to my senses. I was in the prison, but the prison was not quite so full. Czars and governors have a fine way of thinning prisons when they get too crowded." These last words were spoken in a calm, contemptuous way ; the man was evidently trying hard to control the fierce passion that these memories had stirred up. He had clinched one hand, and put it firmly on the desk before him, so that it should not tremble. " Well, now, Mr. Brand," he continued, slowly, "let us suppose that when you come to yourself again, you hear the rumors that are about : you hear, for example, that Count Yerdt — that exceed- inii'lv clever man — has been o-raciouslv pardoned bv the Czar for revealing the villanous conspiracy of his fellow-prisoners ; and that he has ffone off to the South with a bag of money. Do vou not think that you would remember the name of that clever per- son? Do you not think you would say to yourself, 'Well, it may not be to-day, or to-morrow, or the next day : hut some dayV " Again the dark eyes glowed ; but he had a wonderful self- control. " You would remember the name, would you not, if you had your sister-in-law, and your only brother, and six or seven of your old friends and comrades all shot on the one night?" '* This was the same Count Yerdt T' Brand asked, eagerh; 12 SUNRISE. " Yes," said the other, after a considerable pause. Then lie added, with an involuntary sigh, "I had been following his move- ments for some time; but the Camorra stepped in. They are foolish people, those Camorristi — foolish and ignorant. They punish for very trifling offences, and they do not make sufficient \Yarning of their punishments. ' Then they are quite imbecile iu the way they attempt to regulate labor." He was now talking in quite a matter-of-fact way. The clinched hand was relaxed. " Besides," continued Ferdinand Lind, with the cool air of a critic, " their conduct is too scandalous. The outer world be- lieves they are nothing but an association of thieves and cut- throats ; that is because they do not discountenance vulgar and useless crime ; because there is not enough authority, nor any proper selection of members. In the affairs of the world, one has sometimes to make use of queer agents — that is admitted; and you cannot have any large body of people without finding a few scoundrels among them. I suppose one might even say that about your very respectable Church of England. But you only bring a society into disrepute — you rob it of much usefulness — you put the lavp and society against it — when you make it the refufje of common murderers and thieves." " I should hope so," remarked George Brand. If this sus- pected foreigner had resumed his ordinary manner, so had he: he was again the haughty, suspicious, almost supercilious Eng- lishman. Poor Lord Evelyn ! The lad looked quite distressed. These two men were so obviously antipathetic that it seemed altogether hopeless to think of their ever coming together. *' Well," said Mr. Lind, in his ordinary polished and easy man- ner, " I must not seek to detain you ; for it is a cold night to keep horses waiting. But, Mr. Brand, Lord Evelyn dines with us to-morrow evening: if you have nothing better to do, will you join our little party? My daughter, I am sure, will be most pleased to make your acquaintance." " Do, Brand, there's a good fellow !" struck in his friend. " I haven't seen anything of you for such a long time." " I shall be very happy indeed," said the tall Englishman, won- dering whether he was likely to meet a goodly assemblage of se- dition-mongers at this foreign person's table. PLEADINGS. 13 " We dine at a quarter to eight. The address is No. — Cur- zon Street ; but perhaps you had better take this card." So they left, aud were conducted down the staircase by the stout old German ; and scrambled up into the furs of the ba- rouche. " So he has a daughter ?" said Brand, as the two friends to- gether drove down to Buckingham Street, where they were to dine at his rooms. " Oh yes ; his daughter Natalie," said Lord Evelyn, eagerly. " I am so glad you will see her to-morrow night!" " And they live in Curzon Street," said the other, reflectively. " H'm ! Conspiracy does pay, then ?" CHAPTER II. PLEADINGS. "Brother Senior Warden, your place in the lodge?" said Mr. Brand, looking at the small dinner-table. " You forget," his companion said. " I am only in the nurs- ery as yet — an Illuminatus Minor, as it Avere. However, I don't think I can do better than sit where Waters has put me; I can have a glimpse of the lights on the river. But what an extraor- dinary place for you to come to for rooms !" They had driven down through the glare of the great city to this silent and dark little thoroughfare, dismissed the carriage at the foot, climbed up an old -fashioned oak staircase, and found themselves at last received by an elderly person, who looked a good deal more like a bronzed old veteran than an ordinary Eng- lish butler. " Ilalloo, Waters !" said Lord Evelyn. " How are you ? I don't think I have seen you since you threatened to murder the landlord at Cairo." "No, my lord," said Mr. Waters, who seemed vastly pleased by this reminiscence, and who instantly disappeared to summon din- ner for the two young men. " Extraordinary ?" said Brand, when they had got seated at table. " Oh no ; my constant craving is for air, space, light, and quiet. Here I have all these. Beneath are the Embankment 14 SUNRISE. gardens; beyond that, you see, the river — those lights are the steamers at anchor. As for quiet, the lower floors are occupied by a charitable society ; so I fancied there would not be much traffic on the stairs." The jibe passed unheeded; Lord Evelyn had long ago become familiar with his friend's way of speaking about men and things. " And so, Evelyn, you have become a pupil of the revolutiona- ries," George Brand continued, when Waters had put some things before them and retired — " a student of the fine art of stabbing people unawares ? What an astute fellow that Lind must be — I will swear it never occurred to one of the lot before — to get an English milord into their ranks ! A stroke of genius ! It could only have been projected by a great mind. And then look at the effect throughout Europe if an English milord were to be found with a parcel of Orsini bombs in his possession ! every ragamuffin from Naples to St. Petersburg would rejoice; the army of cutthroats would march with a new swagger." His companion said nothing ; but there was a vexed and im- patient look on his face. "And our little daughter — is she pretty? Does she coax the young men to play with daggers ? — the innocent little thing ! And when you start with your dynamite to break open a jail, she blows you a kiss ? — the charming little fairy ! What is it she has embroidered on the ribbon round her neck? — ^Mort aux rois ?'' ^Sic semper tyrannis P No; I saw a much prettier one somewhere the other day : .'A^e si pasce di fresche ruc/giade, ma di sangue di membra di re.'' Isn't it charming? It sounds quite idyllic, even in English : ''Not for you the nourishment of freshen- ing dews, but the blood of the limbs of kings P The pretty little stabber — is she fierce ?" " Brand, you are too bad !" said the other, throwing down his knife and fork, and getting up from the table. " You believe in neither man, woman, God, nor devil I" "AVould you mind handing over that claret jug?" "Why," he said, turning passionately toward him, "it is men like you, who have neither faith, nor hope, nor regret, who are wandering aimlessly in a nightmare of apathy and indolence and indifference, who ought to be the first to welcome the new light breaking in the sky. What is life worth to you? You have nothing to hope for — nothing to look forward to — nothing you PLEADINGS. 15 can kill the aimless days with. Why should you desire to-mor- row? To-morrow will brini^; you nothing different from yester- day; you will do as you did yesterday and the day before yester- day. It is the life of a hoi-se or an ox — nut the life of a human being, with the sympathies and needs and aspirations of a man. What is the object of your living at all ?" " I really don't know," said the other, simply. But this pale hump-backed lad, with the tine nostrils, the sen- sitive mouth, the large forehead, and the beautiful eyes, was ter- ribly in earnest. He forgot about his place at table, lie kept walking up and down, occasionally addressing his friend direct- ly, at other times glancing out at the dark river and the golden lines of lamps. And he was an eloquent speaker, too. Debar- red from most forms of physical exercise, he had been brought up in a world of ideas. When he went to Oxford, it was with some vague notion of subsequently entering the Church ; but at Oxford lie became speedily convinced that there was no Church left for him to enter. Then he fell back on lestheticism — wor- shipped Carpaccio, adored Chopin, and turned his rooms at Mer- ton into a museum of old tapestry, Roman brass-work, and Vene- tian glass. Then he dabbled a little in Comtism ; but very soon he threw aside that gigantic make-believe at believing. Never- theless, whatever was his whim of the moment, it was for him no whim at all, but a burning reality. And in this enthusiasm of his there was no room left for shyness. In fact, these two com- panions had been accustomed to talk frankly ; they had long ago abandoned that self-consciousness which ordinarily restricts the conversation of vouno; Eno-Hshmcn to monosyllables. Brand was a good listener and his friend an eager, impetuous, enthusiastic speaker. The one could even recite verses to the other : what greater proof of confidence ? And on this occasion all this prayer of his was earnest and pathetic enough. He begged this old chum of his to throw aside his insular prejudices and judge for himself. What object had he in living at all, if life were merely a routine of food and sleep ? In this selfish isolation, his living was only a process of going to the grave — only that each day would become more te- dious and burdensome as he grew older. Why should he not examine, and inquire, and believe — if that were possible? The world was perishing for want of a new faith : the new faith was here. 16 SUNRISE. At this phrase George Brand quickly raised his head. He was accustomed to these enthusiasms of his friend ; but he had not yet seen him in the character of an apostle. " You know it as well as I, Brand ; the last great wave of re- ligion has spent itself ; and I suppose Matthew Arnold would have us wait for the mysterious East, the mother of religions, to send us another. Do you remember ' Obermann V — " ' In his cool hall, with haggard eyes, The Roman noble lay ; He drove abroad, in furious guise, Along the Appian Way ; " ' He made a feast, drank fierce and fast. And crowned his head with flowers — No easier nor no quiciier passed The impracticable hours. " ' The brooding East with awe beheld Her impious younger world. The Roman tempest swelled and swelled. And on her head was hurled. " ' The East bowed low before the blast. In patient, deep disdain; She let the legions thunder past, And plunged in thought again.' " The lad had a sympathetic voice ; and there was a curious, pathetic thrill in the tones of it as he went on to describe the re- sult of that awful musing — the new-born joy awakening in the East — the victorious West veiling her eagles and snapping her sword before this strange new worship of the Child — "And centuries came, and ran their course, And, unspent all that time. Still, still went forth that Child's dear force, And still was at its prime." But now — in these later days around us ? — " Now He is dead ! Far hence He Ilea In the lorn Syrian town ; And on His grave, with shining eyes, The Syrian stars look down." The great divine wave had spent itself. But were we to sit su- pinely by — this was what he asked, though not precisely in these consecutive words, for sometimes he walked to and fro in his ea- PLEADINGS. 1 7 gerness, and sometimes he ate a bit of bread, or sat down oppo- site his friend for the purpose of better confronting liim — to wait for that distant and mysterious East to send us another revela- tion ? Not so. Let the proud-spirited and courageous West, that had learned the teachings of Christianity but never yet appUed them — let the powerful West establish a faith of her own: a faitli in the future of humanity itself — a faith in a future of rec- ompense and atonement to the vast multitudes of mankind who had toiled so long and so grievously — a faith demanding instant action and endeavor and self-sacrifice from those who would be its first apostles. " The complaining millions of men Darken in labor and pain." And why should not this Christianity, that had so long been used to gild the thrones of kings and glorify the ceremonies of priests — that had so long been monopolized by the rich and the great and the strong, whom its Founder despised and denounced — why should it not at length come to the help of those myriads of the poor and the weak and the suffering, whose cry for help had been for so many centuries disregarded ? Here was work for the idle, hope for the hopeless, a faith for them who were perishing for want of a faith. " You say all this is vague — a vision — a sentiment ?" he said, talking in the same eager way. " Then that is my fault. I can- not explain it all to you in a few words. But do not run away with the notion that it is mere words — a St. Simonian dream of perfectibility, or anything like that. It is practical ; it exists ; it is within reach of you. It is a definite and immense organiza- tion ; it may be young as yet, but it has courage and splendid aims; and now, with a great work before it, it is eager for aid. You yourself, when you see a child run over, or a woman starv- ing of hunger, or a blind man wanting to cross a street, are you not ready with your help — the help of your hands or of your purse? Multiply these by millions, and think of the cry for help that comes from all parts of the world. If you but knew, you could not resist. I as yet know little — I only hear the echo of the cry ; but my veins are burning ; I shall have the gladness of answering 'Yes,' however little I can do. And after all, is not that something ? For a man to live only for himself is death." 18 SUNRISE. " But you know, Evelyn," said his friend, though he did not quite know what to answer to all this outburst, "you must be more cautious. Those benevolent schemes ai"e veiy noble and very captivating ; but sometimes they are in the hands of rather queer people. And besides, do you quite know the limits of this big society ? I thought you said something about vindicating the oppressed. Does it include politics?" " I do not question ; I am content to obey," said Lord Evelyn. " That is not English ; unreasoning and blind obedience is mere follv." "Perhaps so," said the other, somewhat absently ; "but I sup- pose a man accepts whatever satisfies the craving of his own heart. And — and I should not like to go alone on this new thing, Brand. Will you not come some little way with me ? If you think I am mistaken, you may turn back ; as for me — well, if it were only a dream, I think I would rather go with the pilgrims on their hope- less quest than stay with the people who come out to wonder at them as they go by. You remember — " ' AVho is your lady of love, oh ye that pass Singing ? And is it for soi-row of that which wa3 That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be? For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing. — Our lady of love by you is unbeholden ; For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden Treasure of hair, nor face nor form ; but we That love, we know her more fair than anything.' " Yes ; he had certainly a pathetic thrill in his voice ; but now there was somethino; else — somethino- strano-e — in the slow and monotonous cadence that caught the acute ear of his friend. And again he went on, but absently, almost as if he were himself list- cnmg — " — Is she a queen, having great gifts to give ? — Yea, these ; that whoso hath seen her shall not live Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain, Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears ; And when she bids die he shall surely die. And he shall leave all things under the sky. And go forth naked under sun and rain. And work and wait and watch out all his years." " Evelyn," said George Brand, suddenly, fixing his keen eyes IN A HOLSK IN CURZON STREET. 19 Oil bis friend's face, "where have you heard that? Who has taii,u:ht you? You arc not spcakino- witli your own voice." " With wliose, then ?" and a smile came over the paie, calm, beautiful face, as if lie had awakened out of a dream. "That," said Brand, still regarding him, "was the voice of Natalie Lind." CHAPTER III. IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. Armed with a defiant scepticism, and yet conscious of an un- usual interest and expectation, George Brand drove up to Curzon Street on the following evening. As he jumped out of bis han- som, he inadvertently glanced at the house. "Conspiracy has not quite built us a palace as yet," he said to himself. The door w-as opened by a little German maid-servant, as neat and round and rosy as a Dresden china shepherdess, who con- ducted him up-stairs and announced him at the drawing-room. It was not a large room ; but there was more of color and gild- injr in it than accords with the severitv of modern English taste; and it w-as lit irregularly with a number of candles, each with a little o-reen or rose-red shade. Mr. Lind met him at the door. As they shook hands, Brand caught a glimpse of another figure in the room — apparently that of a tall woman dressed all in cream-white, with a bunch of scarlet geraniums in her bosom, and another in her raven-black hair. " Not the gay little adventuress, then ?" was his instant and in- ternal comment. " Better contrived still. The inspired prophet- ess. Obviously not the daughter of this man at all. Hired." But when Natalie Lind came forward to receive him, he was more than surprised; be was almost abashed. During a second or two of wonder and involuntarv admiration, he Avas startled out of his critical attitude altogether. For this tall and striking fig- ure was in reality that of a young girl of eighteen or nineteen, who had the beautifully formed bust, the slender wjiiht, and the noble carriage that even young Hungarian girls frequently have. Perhaps the face, with its intellectual forehead and the proud and firmly cut mouth, was a trifle too calm and self-reliant for a young 20 SUNRISE. girl ; but all tlie softness of expression that was wanted, all the gentle and gracious timidity that we associate with maidenhood, lay in the large, and dark, and lustrous eyes. When, by acci- dent, she turned aside, and he saw the outline of that clear, olive- complexioned face, only broken by the outward curve of the long black lashes, he had to confess to himself that, adventuress or no adventuress, prophetess or no prophetess, Natalie Lind was pos- sessed of about the most beautiful profile he had ever beheld, while she had the air and tue bearing of a queen. Her father and he talked of the various trifling things of the moment; but what he was chiefly thinking of was the singular calm and self-possession of this young girl. When she spoke, her dark, soft eyes regarded him without fear. Her manner was simple and natural to the last degree ; perhaps with the least touch added of maidenly reserve. He was forced even to admire the simplicity of her dress — cream or canary white it was, with a bit of white fur round the neck and round the tight wrists. The only strong color was that of the scarlet geraniums which she wore in her bosom, and in the splendid masses of her hair ; and the vertical sharp line of scarlet of her closed fan. Once onlv, during this interval of waiting, did he find that calm serenity of hers disturbed. He happened to observe the photograph of a very handsome woman near him on the table. She told him she had had a parcel of photographs of friends of hers just sent over from Vienna ; some of them very pretty. She went to another table, and brought over a handful. He glanced at them only for a second or two. " I see they are mostly from Vienna ; are they Austrian la- dies ?" he asked. "They live m Austria, but they are not Austrians," she an- swered. And then she added, with a touch of scorn about the beautiful mouth, " Our friends and we don't belong to the wom- en-floggers !" " Natalie !" her father said ; but he smiled all the same. " I will tell you one of my earliest recollections," she said : " I remember it very well. Kossuth was carrying me round the room on his shoulder. I suppose I had been listening to the talk of the gentlemen ; for 1 said to him, ' When they burned my papa in effigy at Pesth, why was I not allowed to go and see?' And be said — I remember the sound of his voice even now — IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 21 * Little cliild, you were not born tlien. But if you had been able to go, do you know -what they would have done to you ? They would have flogged you. L)o you not know that the Austrians flog women? When you grow up, little child, your papa will tell you the story of Madame von Maderspach.' " Then she add- ed, " That is one of my valued recollections, that when I was a child I was carried on Kossuth's shoulders." "You have no similar reminiscence of Gorgey, I suppose?" Brand said, with a smile. He had spoken quite inadvertently, without the slightest thought in the world of wounding her feelings. But he was surprised and shocked by the extraordinary effect which this chance remark produced on the tall and beautiful girl standing there ; for an instant she paused, as if not knowing what to say. Then she said proudly, and she turned away as she did so, "Perhaps you arc not aware that there are some names you should not mention in the presence of a Ilungarian woman." What was there in the tone of the voice that made him rapidly glance at her eyes, as she turned away, pretending to carry back the photographs ? He was not deceived. Those large dark eyes were full of sudden, indignant tears ; she had not turned quite quickly enough to conceal them. Of course, he instantly and amply apologized for his ignorance and stupidity ; but what he said to himself was, " That child is not acting. She may be Lind's daughter, after all. Poor thing ! she is too beautiful, and generous, and noble to be made the de- coy of a revolutionary adventurer." At this moment Lord Evelyn arrived, throwing a quick glance of inquiry toward his friend, to see what impression, so far, had been produced. But the tall, red-bearded Englishman maintain- ed, as the diplomatists say, an attitude of the strictest reserve. The keen gray eyes were respectful, attentive, courteous — espe- cially when they were turned to Miss Lind ; beyond that, nothing. Now they had not been seated at the dinner-table more than a few minutes before George Brand began to ask himself whether it was really Curzon Street he was dining in. The oddly furnish- ed room was adorned with curiosities to which every capital in Europe would seem to have contributed. The servants, exclu- sively women, were foreign ; the table glass and decorations were all foreign ; the unostentatious little banquet was distinctly for- 22 SUNRISE. eign. Why, the very bell that had summoned them down — what ■was there in the soft sound of it that had reminded him of some- thing far away ? It was a haunting sound, and he kept puzzling over the vague associations it seemed to call up. At last be frankly mentioned the matter to Miss Lind, who seemed greatly pleased. "Ah, did you like the sound?" she said, in that low and har- monious voice of hers. " The bell was an invention of my own ; shall I show it to you ?" The Dresden shepherdess, by name Anneli, being despatched into the hall, presently returned with an object somewhat resem- bling in shape a Cheshire cheese, but round at the top, formed of roughly filed metal of a lustrous yellow-gray. Round the rude square handle surmounting it was carelessly twisted a bit of old orange silk; other decoration there was none. "Do you see what it is now?" she said. "Only one of the great bells the people use for the cattle on the Campagna, Where did I get it? Oh, you know the Piazza Montenara, in Rome, of course? There is a place there where they sell such things to the country people. You could get one without difficulty, if you are not afraid of being laughed at as a mad Englishman. That bit of embroidered ribbon, though, I got in an old shop in Florence." Indeed, what struck him further was, not only the foreign look of the little room and its belongings, but also the extraordinary familiarity with foreign cities shown by both Lind and his daugh- ter. As the rambling conversation went on (the sonorous cattle- bell had been removed by the rosy-cheeked Anneli), they appeared to be just as much at home in Madrid, in Munich, in Turin, or Genoa as in London. And it was no vague and general tourist's knowledge that these two cosmopolitans showed ; it was rather the knowledge of a resident — an intimate acquaintance with per- sons, streets, shops, and houses. George Brand was a bit of a globe-trotter himself, and was entirely interested in this talk about places and things that he knew. He got to be quite at home with those people, whose own home seemed to be Europe. Reminiscences, anecdotes flowed freely on ; the dinner passed with unconscious rapidity. Lord Evelyn was delighted and pleased beyond measure to observe the more than courteous at- tention that bis friend paid to Xatalie Lind. IN A HOUSE IN CUKZON STREET. 23 But all this while what mention was there of the great and wonderful organization — a mere far-off glimpse of which had so captured Lord Evelyn's fervent iujagination ? Not a word. The sceptic who had come among them could find nothing either to justify or allay his suspicions. But it might safely be said that, for the moment at least, his suspicions as regarded one of those two were dormant. It was difficult to associate trickery, and con- spiracy, and cowardly stabbing, with this beautiful young Hunga- rian girl, whose calm, dark eyes were so fearless. It is true that she appeared very proud-spirited, and generous, and enthusiastic ; and you could cause her cheek to pale whenever you spoke of injury done to the weak, or the suffering, or the poor. But that was different from the secret sharpening of poniards. Once only was reference made to the various secret associations that are slowly but eagerly working under the apparent social and political surface of Europe, Some one mentioned the Nihilists. Thereupon Ferdinand Lind, in a quiet and matter-of-fact way, without appearing to know anything of the personnel of the soci- ety, and certainly without expressing any approval of its aims, took occasion to speak of the extraordinary devotion of those people. " There has been nothing like it," said he, " in all the history of what men have done for a political cause. You may say they are fanatics, madmen, murderers ; that they only provoke further tyranny and oppression ; that their efforts are wholly and solely mischievous. It may be so ; but I speak of the individual and what he is ready to do. The sacrifice of their own life is taken almost as a matter of course. Each man knows that for hiin the end will almost certainly be Siberia or a public execution ; and he accepts it. You will find young men, well-born, well-educated, who go away from their friends and their native place, who go into a remote village, and offer to work at the commonest trade, at apprentices' wages. They settle there ; they marry ; they preach nothing but the value of honest work, and extreme sobri- ety, and respect for superiors. Then, after some years, when they are regarded as beyond all suspicion, they begin, cautiously and slowly, to spread abroad their propaganda — to teach respect rather for human liberty, for justice, for self-sacrifice, for those passions that prompt a nation to adventure everything for its freedom. Well, you know the end. The man may be found 24 SUNRISE. out — banished or executed; but the association remains. The Russians at tliis moment have no notion how wide-spread and powerful it is." " The bead-quarters, are they in Russia itself ?" asked Brand, on the watch for any admission, " Who knows ?" said the other, absently. " Perhaps there are none." " None ? Surely there must be some power to say what is to be done, to enforce obedience ?" "What if each man finds that in himself?" said Lind, with something of the air of a dreamer coming over the firm and thoughtful and rugged face. "It may be a brotherhood. All associations do not need to be controlled by kings and priests and standing armies." "And the end of all this devotion, you say, is Siberia or death ?" "For the man, perhaps; for his work, not. It is not personal gain or personal safety that a man must have in view if he goes to do battle against the oppression that has crushed the world for centuries and centuries. Do you not remember the answer given to the Czar by Michael Bestoujif when he was condemned ? It was only the saying of a peasant ; but it is one of the noblest ever heard in the world. ' I have the power to pardon you,' said the Czar to him, ' and I would do so if I thought you would be- come a faithful subject.' What was the answer ? ' Sire,' said Michael Bestoujif, ' that is our great misfortune, that the Emper- or can do everything, and that there is no law.'" "Ah, the brave man !" said Natalie Lind, quickly and passion- ately, with a fiash of pride in her eyes. " The brave man ! If I had a brother, I would ask him, * When will you show the cour- age of Michael Bestoujif V " Lord Evelyn glanced at her with a strange, admiring, proud look. " If she had a brother !" What else, even with all his ad- miration and affection for her, could he hope to be ? Presently they wandered back into other and lighter subjects ; and Brand, at least, did not notice how the time was flying. When Natalie Lind rose, and asked her father whether he would have coffee sent into the smoking-room, or have tea in the draw- ing-room. Brand was quite astonished and disappointed to find it so late. He proposed that they should at once go up to the drawing-room ; and this was done. IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 25 Tliey liacl been speaking of musical instruments at dinner; and their Lost now brought them some venerable lutes to exam- ine — curiosities only, for most of the metal strings were broken. Beautiful objects, however, they were, in inlaid ivory or tortoise- shell and ebony ; made, as the various inscriptions revealed, at Bologna, or Padua, or Venice ; and dating, some of them, as far back as 1474. But in the midst of all this, Brand espied another instrument on one of the small tables. " Miss Lind," said he, with some surprise, " do you play the zither ?" "Oh yes, Natalie will play you something," her father said, carelessly ; and forthwith the girl sat down to the small table. George Brand retired into a corner of the room. He was pas- sionately fond of zither music. He thought no more about that examination of the lutes. '■'•Do you know one tvho can play the zither tvelW'' says the proverb. "7/" so, rejoice, for there are not two in the toorlciy However that might be, Natalie Lind could play the zither, as one eaofer listener soon discovered. He, in that far corner, could only see the profile of the girl (just touched with a faint red from the shade of the nearest candle, as she leaned over the in- strument), and the shapely wrists and fingers as they moved on the metallic strings. But was that what he really did see when the first low tremulous notes struck the prelude to one of the old pathetic VolksUeder that many a time he had heard in the morning, when the fresh wind blew in from the pines ; that many a time he had heard in the evening, when the little blue- eyed Kathchen and her mother sung together as they sat and knitted on the bench in front of the inn? Suddenly the air changes. What is this louder tramp? Is it not the joyous cho- rus of the home-returning huntsmen ; the lads with the slain roe- deer slung round their necks ; that stalwart Bavarian keeper haul- ing at his mighty black hound ; old father Keinitz, with his three beagles and his ancient breech-loader, hurrying forward to get the first cool, vast, splendid draught of the clear, white wine ? How the young fellows come swinging along through the dust, their faces ablaze against the sunset ! Listen to the far, hoarse chorus ! — " Daun kehr' ich von der Haide, Zur hauslich stillen Freude, 9 26 SUNRISE. Ein f romraer Jiigersmann ! Eiii frommer Jiigersmanu ! Halli, hallo ! halli, hallo ! Ein f i-omnier Jiigersmann !" White wine now, and likewise the richer red ! — for there is a great hand-shaking because of the Mr. Englishman's good fortune in having shot three bucks ; and the little Kiithchen's eyes grow full, because they have brought home a gentle-faced hind, likewise cruelly slain. And Kathchen's mother has whisked inside, and here are the tall schoppen on the table ; and speedily the long, low room is filled with the tobacco-smoke. What ! another song, you thirsty old Keinitz, with the quavering voice? But there is a lusty chorus to that too ; and a great clinking of glasses ; and the Englishman laughs and does his part too, and he has called for six more schoppen of red But hush, now ! Have we come out from the din and the smoke to the cool evening air? What is that one hears afar in the garden ? Surely it is the little Kathchen and her mother singing together, in beautiful harmony, the old, familiar, tender Lorelei ? The zither is a strange instru- ment — it speaks. And when Natalie Lind, coming to this air, sung in a low contralto voice an only half - suggested second, it seemed to those in the room that two women were singing — the one with a voice low and rich and penetrating, the other voice clear and sweet like the singing of a young girl. "2>/e Luft ist kuhl und es dunkelt, und ruhig Jliesset der Rhein.'''' Was it, in- deed, Kathchen and her mother ? Were they far away in the beautiful pine-land, with the quiet evening shining red over the green woods, and darkness coming over the pale streams in the hollows ? When Natalie Lind ceased, the elder of the two guests murmured to himself, " Wonderful ! wonderful !" The other did not speak at all. She rested her hands for a moment on the table. " Natalushka," said her father, " is that all ?" "I will not be called Natalushka, papa," said she; but again she bent her hands over the silver strings. And these brighter and gayer airs now — surely they are from the laughing and light-hearted South ? Have we not heard them under the cool shade of the olive-trees, with the hot sun blazing on the garden-paths of the Villa Reale ; and the children play- ing; and the band busy with its dancing canzoni, the gay notes IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET. 27 drowning the murmur and plash of tlie fountains near ? Look now ! — far beneath the gray shadow of the olive-trees — the deep blue band of the sea ; and there the double-sailed barca, like a yellow butterfly hovering on the water; and there the large mar- tingallo, bound for the cloud-like island on the horizon. Are they singing, then, as they speed over the glancing waves ? . . . . "0 dolce Najwli ! suol bcato !''\ . . .for what can they sing at all, as they leave us, if they do not sing the pretty, tender, tinkling "Santa Lucia?" " Venite all' agile Barchctta mia ! Santa Lucia ! Santa Lucia !" . . . .The notes grow fainter and fainter. Are tlie tall maidens of Capri already looking out for the swarthy sailors, that these turn no longer to the shores they are leaving?.... "0 dolce NajJoU! suol beato r\ . . . Fainter and fainter grow the notes on the trembling string, so that you can scarcely tell them from the cool plashing of the fountains " Santa Lucia ! . . . . San- ta Lucia .'" .... " Nataluslika," said her father, laughing, " you must take us to Venice now." The young Hungarian girl rose, and put the zither aside. " It is an amusement for children," she said. She went to the piano, which was open, and took down a piece of music — it was Kucken's "Maid of Judah." Now, hitherto, George Brand had only heard her murmur a low, harmonious second to one or other of the airs she had been playing ; and he was quite unprepared for the passion and fervor which her rich, deep, resonant, contralto voice threw into this wail of indignation and despair. This was the voice of a woman, not of a girl ; and it was \\\i\\ the proud passion of a woman that she seemed to send this cry to Heaven for reparation, and justice, and revenge. And surely it was not only of the sorrows of the land of Judah she was thinking? — it was a wider cry — the cry of the oppressed, and the suffering, and the heart-broken in every clime — " blest native land ! fatherland mine ! How long for thy refuge in vain shall I pine ?" He could have believed there were tears in her eyes just then ; 28 SUNRISE, but there were none, he knew, when she came to the fierce and piteous appeal that followed — " Where, where are thy proud sons, so lordly in might ? All mown do^vn and fallen in blood-welling fight ! Thy cities are ruin, thy valleys lie waste. Their summer enchantment the foe hath erased. O blest native land ! how long shalt decline ? When, when will the Lord cry, ' Kevenge, it is Mine ?' " The zither speaks ; but there is a speech beyond that of the zither. The penetrating vibration of this rich and pathetic voice was a thing not easily to be forgotten. When the two friends left the house, they found themselves in the chill darkness of an English night in February, Surely it must have seemed to them that they had been dwelling for a period in warmer climes, with gay colors, and warmth, and sweet sounds around them. They walked for some time in silence, " Well," said Lord Evelyn, at last, " what do you think of them ?" " I don't know," said the other, after a pause. " I am puzzled. How did you come to know them ?" " I came to know Lind through a newspaper reporter called O'Halloran. I should like to introduce you to him too." George Brand soon afterward parted from his friend, and walked away down to his silent rooms over the river. The streets were dark and deserted, and the air was still ; yet there seemed somehow to be a tremulous, passionate, distant sound in the night. It was no tinkling " Santa Lucia "dying away over the blue seas in the south. It was no dull, sonorous bell, sug- gesting memories of the far Campagna, Was it not rather the quick, responsive echo that had involuntarily arisen in his own heart, when he heard Natalie Lind's thrilling voice pour forth that proud and indignant appeal, " When, when will the Lord cry, ' Revenge, it is Mme ?' " CHAPTER IV. A STRANGER, Ferdinand Lind was in his study, busy with his morning let- ters. It was a nondescript little den, which he also used as libra- ry and smoking-room ; its chief feature being a collection of por- A STRANGERS 29 traits — a most licterogcncous assortment of engravings, photo- graphs, woodcuts, and terra -cotta busts. Wlicrcver the book- shelves ceased, these began ; and as there were a great number of them, and as the room was small, Mr. Lind's friends or historical heroes sometimes came into odd juxtaposition. In any case, they formed a strange assemblage — Arndt and Korncr ; Stein; Silvio Pellico and Karl Sand check by jowl ; Pestal, Comte, Cromwell, Garibaldi, Marx, Mazzini, Bem, Kossuth, Lassalle, and many an- other writer and fighter. A fine engraving of Napoleon as First Consul was hung over the mantel-piece, a pipe-rack intervening between it and a fac-simile of the warrant for the execution of Charles I. Something in his correspondence had obviously annoyed the occupant of this little study. His brows were bent down, and he kept his foot nervously and impatiently tapping on the floor. When some one knocked, he said, " Come in !" almost angrily, though he must have known wdio was his visitor, " Good-morning, papa !" said the tall Hungarian girl, coming into the room with a light step and a smile of welcome on her face. "Good -morning, Natalie!" said he, without looking up. "I am busy this morning." " 01), but, papa," said she, going over, and stooping down and kissing him, " you must let me come and thank you for the flow- ers. They are more beautiful than ever this time." "What flowers?" said he, impatiently. " Why," she said, with a look of astonishment, " have you for- gotten already ? The flowers you always send for ray birthday morning." But instantly she changed her tone. "Ah! I see. Good little children must not ask where the fairy gifts come from. There, I will not disturb you, papa." She touched his shoulder caressingly as she passed. " But thank you again, papa Santa Claus." At breakfast, Ferdinand Lind seemed to have entirely recov- ered his good-humor. "I had forgotten for the moment it was your birthday, Nata- lie," said he. " You are quite a grown woman now." Nothing, however, was said about the flowers, though the beau- tiful basket stood on a side-table, filling the room with its per- 30 SUNRISE. fume. After breakfast, Mr. Lind left for his office, his daughter setting about lier domestic duties. At twelve o'clock she was ready to go out for her accustomed morning walk. The pretty little Anneli, her companion on these excursions, was also ready ; and together they set forth. They chatted frankly together in German — the ordinary relations be- tween mistress and servant never having been properly establish- ed in this case. For one thing, they had been left to depend on each other's society during many a long evening in foreign towns, when Mr. Lind was away on his own business. For another, Na- talie Lind had, somehow or other, and quite unaided, arrived at the daring conclusion that servants were human beings ; and she had been taught to regard human beings as her brothers and sis- ters, some more fortunate than others, no doubt, but the least fort- unate having the greatest claim on her. " Fraulein," said the little Saxon maid, " it was I myself who took in the beautiful flowers that came for you this morning." "Yes?" " Yes, indeed ; and I thought it was very strange for a lady to be out so early in the morning." " A lady !" said Natalie Lind, with a quick surprise. " Not dressed all in black ?" " Yes, indeed, she was dressed all in black." The girl was silent for a second or two. Then she said, with a smile, " It is not right for my father to send me a black messenger on my birthday — it is not a good omen. And it was the same last year when we were in Paris ; the concierge told me. Birth- day gifts should come with a white fairy, you know, Anneli — all silver and bells." " Frtiulein," said the little German girl, gravely, " I do not think the lady who came this morning would bring you any ill fortune, for she spoke with such gentleness when she asked about you." " When she asked about me ? What was she like, then, this black messenger ?" "IIow could I see, Fraulein ? — her veil was so thick. But her hair was gray ; I could see that. And she had a beautiful figure — not quite as tall as you, Fraulein ; I watched her as she w^ent away." A STRANGER. 31 " I am not sure that it is safe, Anneli, to watcli tlic people whom Santa Chins sends," tlic young mistress said, lii^litly. " However, you have not told nic wliat the strange lady said to you." "Th;it will I now tell you, Friinlein," said tlic other, with an air of importance. " Well, wlien I heard the knock at the door, I went instantly ; I thought it was strange to hear a knock sf) early, instead of the bell. Then there was the lady ; and she did not ask who lived there, but she said, 'Miss Lind is not up yet?' But tlien, Friiulein, you must understand, she did not speak like that, frand remembered the story, and perhaps was a trifle surprised that she should wear so conspicuously the gift of a stranger. She was very friendly, and very cheerful. She did not seem at all fatigued with her travelling ; on the contrary, it was probably the sea-air and the sunlight that had lent to her cheek a faint flush of color. But at the end of dinner her father said, " Natalushka, if we go into the drawing-room, and listen to music, after so long a day, we shall all go to sleep. You must come into the smokino;-room with us." " Very well, papa." "But, Miss Lind," the other gentleman remonstrated, "a velvet dress — tobacco-smoke — " " My dresses must take their chance," said Miss Lind. " I wear them to please my friends, not to please chance acquaint' anccs who may call during the day." And so they retired to the little den at the end of the passage ; 64 SUNRISE. and Natalie handed Mr. Brand a box of cisfars to choose from, and cot down from the rack her father's lono'-stemmcd, red-bowled pipe. Then she took a seat in the corner by the fire, and listened. The talk was all about that anarchical literature that Brand had been devouring down at Dover; and he was surprised to find how little sympathy Lind had with writing of that kind, though he had to confess that certain of the writers were person- al friends of his own. Natalie sat silent, listening intently, and staring into the fire. At last Brand said, " Of course, I had other books. For example, one I see on your shelves there." He rose, and took down the " Songs before Sunrise." " Miss Lind," he said, " I am afraid you Avill laugh at me; but I have been haunted with the notion that you have been teaching Lord Evelyn how to read poetry, or that he has been unconsciously imitating you. I heard him repeat some passages from 'The Pilgrims,' and I was convinced he was reproducing something he had heard from you. "Well — I am almost ashamed to ask you — " A touch of embarrassment appeared on the girl's face, and she glanced at her father. " Yes, certainly, Natalie ; why not ?" " Well," she said, lightly, " I cannot read if I am stared at. You must remain as you are." She took the book from him, and passed to the other side of the room, so that she was behind them both. There was silence for an instant or two as she turned over the leaves. Then the silence was broken ; and if Brand was instantly as- sured that his surmise was correct, he also knew that here was a more pathetic cadence — a prouder ring — than any that Lord Evelyn had thrown into the lines. She read at random — a pas- sage here, a passage there — but always it seemed to him that the voice was the voice of a herald proclaiming the new awakening of the world — tlie evil terrors of tlie night departing — the sun- light of liberty and right and justice beginning to shine over the sea. And these appeals to England ! " Oh thou, clothed round with raiment of white waves, Thy brave brows hghtening through the gray wet air, Thou, lulled with sea-sounds of a thousand caves, And lit with sea-shine to thy inland lair, A DISCOVERY, ' 65 Wliosc frcedora clothed the naked souls of slaves And stripped tlie ninftled souls of tyrants bare, Oil, by the crutuiies of thy ylnrious graves. By the live light of the earth that was thy care, Live, thou nuist not be dead, Live ; let tiiy armed head Lift itself up to sunward and the fair Daylight of time and man. Thine head republican. With the same splendor on thine helmlcss hair That in his eyes kept up a light Who on thy glory gazed away their sacred sight." Tlic cry there was in this voice ! Surely his heart answered, " Oh Milton's land, what ails thee to be dead !" "Was it in tliis very room, he wondered, that the old Polish refugee was used to lift up his trembling hand and bid his com- patriots drink to "the white chalk-line beyond the sea?" How could he forget, as he and she sat together that morning, and gazed across the blue waters to the far and sunlit line of coast, the light that shone on her face as she said, "If I were English, how proud I should be of England !" And this England of her veneration and her love — did it not contain some, at least, who would answer to her appeal ? Presently Xatalic Lind shut the book and gently laid it down, and stole out of the room. She was gone only for a few sec- onds. "When she returned, she had in her hand a volume of sketches, of which she had been speaking during dinner. He did not open this volume at once. On the contrary, he was silent for a little while ; and then he looked up, and addressed Natalie, with a strange grave smile on his face. " I was about to tell your father, Miss Lind, when you came in, that if I could not translate for yon, or carry a message across the Atlantic for him, he might at least find something else that I can do. At all events, may I say that I am willing to join you, if I can be of any help at all V Ferdinand Lind regarded him for a second, and said, quite calmly, " It is unnecessary. You have already joined us." 66 SUNRISE. CHAPTER IX, A NIGHT IN VENICE. The solitary occupant of this railway-carriago was apparently reading; but all the same he looked oftener at his watch than at his book. At length he definitely shut the volume and placed it in his travellino;-ba2f. Then lie let down tlie carriao'e- window, and looked out into the night. The heavens were clear and calm ; the newly-risen moon was but a thin crescent of silver; in the south a large planet was shining. All around him, as it seemed, stretched a vast plain of water, as dark and silent and serene as the overarching sky. Then, far ahead, he could catch a glimpse of a pale line stretch- ing across the watery plain — a curve of the many-arched viaduct along which the train was thundering ; and beyond that again, and low down at tiie horizon, two or three minute and dusky points of orange. These lights were the lights of Venice. This traveller was not much hampered with luggage. When finally the train was driven into the glare of the station, and the usual roar and confusion began, he took his small bag in his hand and rapidly made his wa}' through the crowd ; then out and down the broad stone steps, and into a gondola. In a couple of minutes he was completely away from all that glare and bus- tle and noise ; nothing around him but darkness and an absolute silence. The city seemed as the City of the Dead. The tall and som- bre buildings on each side of the water-highway were masses of black — blackest of all where they showed against the stars. The ear sought in vain for any sound of human life ; there was noth- ing but the lapping of the water along the side of the boat, and the slow, monotonous plash of the oar. Farther and farther into the silence and the darkness ; and now here and there a window, close down to the water, and heav- ily barred with rectangular bars of iron, shows a dull red light; A NIGHT IN VENICE. 67 but there is no soiiiul, nor any passing shadow within. The man who is standing by tlie hcarse-Hke cabin of the gondola observes and thinks, Tiiesc blaclc buildings; the narrow and secret ca- nals; the stillness of the night: are they not snggestive enough — of revenge, a i|uick blow, and the silence of the grave? And now, as the gondola still glides on, tliere is heard a slow and dis- tant tolling of bells. The deed is done, then ? — no longer will the piteous hands be thrust out of the barred window — no longer will the wild cry for hel[) startle the passer-by in the night-time. And now again, as the gondola goes on its way, another sound — still more niutfled and indistinct — the sound of a church organ, with the solemn chanting of voices. Are they praying for the soul of the dead ? The sound becomes more and more distant ; the gondola goes on its way. The new-comer has no further time for these idle fancies. At the Rialto bridge he stops the gondola, pays the man, and goes ashore. Then, rapidly ascending the steps, he crosses the bridge,* descends the other side, and again jumps into a gondola. All tliis the work of a few seconds. But it was obvious he had been expected, lie gave no instruc- tions to the two men in this second gondola. They instantly went to work, and with a rapid and powerful stroke sent the boat along — with an occasional warning cry as they swept by the entrance to one or other of the smaller canals. Finally, they abruptly left the Grand Canal, close by the Corte d'Appello, and shot into a narrow opening that seemed little more than a slit between the buildings. Here they had to go more cautiously ; the orange light of their lamp shining as they passed on the empty archways, and on the iron -barred windows, and the slimy steps. And always this strange silence in the dead or sleeping city, and the monotonous plash of the oars, and the deep low cry of " Sia premi !" or " Sia stali !" to give warning of their approach. But, indeed, that warning was unnecessary ; they were absolutely alone in this labyrinth of gloomy water-ways. At length they shot beneath a low bridge, and stopped at some steps immediately beyond. Here one of the men, getting out, proceeded to act as guide to the stranger. They bad not far to go. They passed first of all into a long, low, and foul-smelling archway, in the middle of which was a narrow aperture protected G8 SUNRISE. by an iron gate. Tlio man lit a candle, opened the gate, and pro- ceded his companion along a passage and up a stone staircase. The atmosphere of the place Avas damp and sicklj' ; the staircase was not more than three feet in width ; the feeble glimmer of the candle did bnt little to dispel the darkness. Even that was withdrawn ; ior the guide, having knocked thrice at a door, blew out the candle, and retreated down-stairs. " The night is dark, brotliery " The dawn is near.'''' Instantly the door was thrown open ; the dark figure of a man was seen against the light; he said, " Come in ! come in!" and his hand was outstretched. The stranger seemed greatly sur- prised. " What, yon, Calabressa !" he exclaimed. " Your time has not expired !" " What, no ? My faith, I have made it expire !" said the other, airily, and introducing a rather badly pronounced French word or two into his Italian. " But come in, come in ; take a seat. You are early ; you may have to wait." He was an odd-looking person, this tall, thin, elderly man, with the flowing yellow-white hair and the albino eyes. There was a semi-military look about his braided coat; but, on the other hand, he wore the cap of a German student — of purple velvet, with a narrow leather peak. He seemed to be proud of his appearance. He had a gay manner. " Yes, I am escaped. Ah, how fine it is ! You walk about all day as you please ; you smoke cigarettes ; you have your coffee ; you go to look at the young English ladies who come to feed the pigeons in the place." He raised two fingers to his lips, and blew a kiss to all the world. " Such complexions ! A wild rose in every cheek ! But listen, now; this is not about an English young lady. I go up to the Church of St. Mark — beside the bronze horses. I am enjoying the air, when I hear a sound ; I turn ; over there I see open win- dows ; ah! the figure in the white dressing-gown ! It is the diva herself. They play the Barbiere to-night, and she is practising as she dusts her room. Una voce poco fa — it trills all through the square. She puts the ornaments on the mantel-piece straight. Zo ffiurai, la vinccro ! — she goes to the mirror and makes the most beautiful attitude. Ah, what a spectacle — the black hair A NIGHT IN VENICE. 69 all down — tLe white dres.sino;-gowii — lo sono docile'''' — and again be kissed his two fingers. Then he said, " But now, you. You do not look one day older. And how is Natalie ?" "Natalie is Avell, L believe," said the other, gravely. "You are a strange man. You have not a soft heart for the pretty creatures of the world ; you are implacable. The little Natalushka, then : how is she?" " The little Natalushka is grown big now ; she is quite a woman." " A woman ! She will marry an Englishman, and become very rich : is not that so ?" " Natalie — I mean, Natalushka will not marry," said the other, coldly. " She knows she is very useful to me. She knows I have no other." " Maintenant : the business — how goes that ?" " Elsewhere, well ; in p]ngland, not quite so Avell," said Ferdi- nand Lind. "But what can you expect? The English think they have no need of co-operation, except to get their groceries cheap. Why, everything is done in the open air there. If a scoundrel gets a lash too many in prison, you have it before Par- liament next week. If a school-boy is kicked by his master, you have all the newspapers in the country ablaze. The newspapers govern England. A penny journal has more power than the commander-in-chief." " Then why do you remain in England V " It is the safest for me, personally. Then there is most to be done there. Again, it is the bead-quarters of money. Do you see, Calabressa? One must have money, or one cannot work." The albino-looking man lit a cigarette. "You despair, then, of England ? No, you never despair." " There is a prospect. The Southern Englishman is apathetic ; be is interested only, as I said, in getting his tea and sugar cheap. But the Northern Englishman is vigorous. The trades' associa- tions in the North are vast, powerful, wealthy ; but they arc sus- picious of anything foreign. Members join us ; the associations will not. But what do you think of this, Calabressa: if one were to have the assistance of an Englishman whose father was one of the great iron-masters ; whose name is well known in the north ; who has a large fortune, and a strong will f 70 SUNRISE. " You have got such a man ?" " Not yet. He is only a Friend. But if I do not misjudge him, he will be a Companion soon. He is a man after my own heart : once with us, all the powers of the earth will not turn hira back." " And his fortune ?" "He will help us with that also, no doubt." "But how did it occur to Providence to furnish you with an assistant so admirably equipped?" " Do you mean how did I chance to find him ? Through a young English lord — an amiable youth, who is a great friend of Natalie's — of Natalushha's. Why, he has joined us, too — " " An English milord !" " Yes ; but it is merely from poetical sympathy. He is pleas- ant and warm-hearted, but to us not valuable ; and he is poor." At this moment a bell rung, apparently in an adjoining apart- ment. Calabressa jumped from his chair, and hastened to a door on his left, which he opened. A 2)ortiere prevented anything be- ing seen in the chamber beyond. " Has the summons been answered V a voice asked, from the other side. " Yes, sir," said Calabressa. " Brother Lind is here." " That is well." The door was again shut, and Calabressa resumed his seat. " Brother Lind," said he, in a low voice, though he leaned back in his chair, and still preserved that gay manner, " I suppose you do not know why you have been summoned ?" " Not I." "Bien. But suppose one were to guess? Suppose there is a gentleman somewhere about who has been carrying his outraging of one's common notions of decency just a little too far ? Sup- pose it is necessary to make an example? You may be noble, and have great wealth, and honor, and smiles from beautiful women ; but if some night you find a little bit of steel getting into your heart, or if some morning you find your coffee as you drink it burn all the way down until you can feel it burn no more — what then ? You must bid good-bye to your mistresses, and to your gold plate and feasts, and your fountains spouting per- fumes, and all your titles : is not that so ?" " But who is it ?" said Lind, suddenly bending forward. A NIGHT IN VENICE. 71 The other regarded him for a moment, phiyfully. " What if I were to mention the 'Starving Cardinal?'' " " Zaccatelli !" exclaimed Liiid, with a ghastly pallor appearing for a moment in the powerful iron-gray face. Calabressa only laughed. " Oh yes, it is beautiful to have all these fine things. And the unhappy devils who are forced to pawn their last sticks of furni- ture at the Monte di I'ieta, rather than have their children starve when bread is dear; how it must gratify them to think of his Eminence seizing the funds of that flourishing institution to buy up the whole of the grain in the Papal States ! What an admira- ble speculation ! How kind to the poor, on the part of the Secretary to the Yicar of Christ ! What ! — do you think because I am a cardinal I am not to make a profit in corn ? I tell you those people have no business to be miserable — they have no business to go and pawn their things; if I am allowed to specu- late with the funds, why not? Allans done! — it is a devilish fine world, merry gentlemen !" "But — but Avhy have they summoned me?" Lind said, in the same low voice. "Who knows?" said the other, lightly. "I do not. Come, tell me more about the little Natalushka. Ah, do I not remem- ber the little minx, when she came in, after dinner, among all those men, with her ''Eljen a haza P What has she grown to? what has she become ?" " Natalie is a good girl," said her father ; but he was thinking of other things. " Beautifuf?" " Some would say so." . "But not like the English young ladies?" " Not at all." " I thousi'ht not. I remember the black-eved little one — with her pride in Batthyany, and her hatred of Gorgey, and all the rest of it. The little Empress ! — with her proud eyes, and her bhick eyelashes. Do you remember at Dunkirk, when old Anton Pepczinski met her for the first time ? ''Little Natalushka, if I wait for you, zoill you marry me ivhen you grow upV Then the quick answer, '/ am not to be called any longer by my nursery name ; hut if you ivill fght for my country, I will marry you when I grow «/>.' " 72 SUNRISE. Light-hearted as this man Calabressa was, having escaped from prison, and eagerly inclined for chatter, after so long a spell of enforced silence, he could not fail to perceive that his companion Avas hardly listening to him. " Mais, mon frere, a quoi bon le regarder ?" he said, peevishly. "If it must come, it will come. Or is it the poor cardinal you pity ? That was a good name they invented for him, anyway — il cardinale affamatorc.'''' Again the bell rung, and Ferdinand Lind started. When he turned to the door, it was with a look on his face of some anxiety and apprehension — a look but rarely seen there. Then the por- tiere was drawn aside to let some one come through : at the same moment Lind caught a brief glimpse of a number of men sitting round a small table. The person who now appeared, and whom Lind saluted with great respect, was a little, sallow-complexioned man, with an in- tensely black beard and mustache, and a worn expression of face. He returned Lind's salutation gravely, and said, " Brother, the Council thank you for your prompt answer to the summons. Meanwhile, nothing is decided. You will attend here to-morrow night." " At what hour. Brother Granaglia?" "Ten. You will now be conveyed back to the Rialto steps; from thence you can get to your hotel." Lind bowed acquiescence ; and the stranger passed again through the portiere and disappeared. CHAPTER X. VACILLATION. " Evelyn, I distrust that man Lind." The speaker was George Brand, who kept impatiently pacing up and down those rooms of his, while his friend, with a dreamy look on the pale and fine face, lay back in an easy-chair, and gazed out of the clear panes before him. It was night ; the blinds had not been drawn; and the row of windows, framed by their scarlet curtains, seemed a series of dark-blue pictures, all throbbing with points of golden fire. VACILLATION. 13 "Is there any one you do not distrust?" said Lord Evelyn, ab- sently. " I hope so. But with regard to Llnd : I had distinctly to let him know that he must not assume that I am mixed up in any of his schemes until I definitely say so. When, in answer to my vague proposal, he told me I had already pledged myself, I con- fess I was startled for a moment. Of course it was all very well for him afterward to speak of my declared sympathy, and of iny promise to reveal nothing, as being quite enough, at least for the earlier stage. If that is so, you may easily acquire adherents. But either I join with a definite pledge, or not at all." " I am inclined to think you had better not join," said Lord Evelyn, calmly. After that there was silence; and Brand's companion lay and looked on the picture outside, that was so dark and solemn and still. In the midst of all that blaze of various and trembling lights was the unseen river — unseen but for the myriad reflections that showed the ripples of the water; then the far-reaching rows of golden stars, spanning the bridges, and marking out the long Em- bankment sweep beyond St. Thomas's Uospital. On the other side black masses of houses — all their commonplace detail lost in the mysterious shadow ; and over them the silver crescent of the moon just strong enough to give an edge of white to a tall shot- tower. Then far away in the east, in the clear dark sky, the dim gray ghost of a dome; scarcely visible, and yet revealing its presence ; the great dome of St. Paul's. This beautiful, still scene — the silence was so intense that the footfall of a cab-horse crossing Waterloo Bridge could be faintly heard, as the eye followed the light slowly moving between the two rows of golden stars — seemed to possess but little interest for* the owner of these rooms. For the moment he had lost al- together his habitual air of proud reserve. "Evelyn," he said, abruptly, " was it not in these very rooms you insisted that, if the work was good, one need not be too scrupulous about one's associates ?" " I believe so," said the other, indifferently : he had almost lost hope of ever overcoming his friend's inveterate suspicion. "Well," Brand said, " there is something in that. I believe in the work that Lind is engaged in, if I am doubtful about him. And if it pleases you or him to say that I have joined you mere- 4 74 SUNRISE. ly because I express sympathy, and promise to say nothing, well and good. But you : you are more than that ?" The question somewhat startled Lord Evelyn ; and his pale face flushed a little. " Oh yes," he said ; " of course. I — I cannot precisely explain to you." " I understand. But, if I did really join, I should at least have you for a companion." Lord Evelyn turned and regarded him. " If you were to join, it might be that you and I should never see each other again in this world. Have I not told you? — Your first pledge is that of absolute obedience ; you have no lon- ger a right to your own life ; you become a slave, that others may be free." "And you would have me place myself in the power of a man like Lind ?" Brand exclaimed. " If it were necessary," said Lord Evelyn, " I should hold my- self absolutely at the bidding of Lind ; for I am convinced he is an honest man, as he is a man of great ability and unconquerable energy and will. But you would no more put yourself in Lind's power than in mine. Lind is a servant, like the rest of us. It is true he has in some ways a sort of quasi-independent position, which I don't quite understand ; but as regards the Society that I have joined, and that you would join, he is a servant, as you would be a servant. But what is the use of talking? Your temperament isn't fitted for this kind of work." " I want to see my way clear," Brand said, almost to himself. "Ah, that is just it; whereas, you must go blindfold." Thereafter again silence. The moon had risen higher now ; and the paths in the Embankment gardens just below them had grown gray in the clearer light. Lord Evelyn lay and watched the light of a hansom that was rattling along by the side of the river. "Do you remember," said Brand, with a smile, "your repeat- ing some verses here one night ; and my suspecting you had bor- rowed the inspiration somewhere? My boy, I have found you out. What I guessed was true. I made bold to ask Miss Lind to read, that evening I came up with them from Dover." "I know it," said Lord Evelyn, quietly. "You have seen her, then?" was the quick question. VACILLAIIUN. 15 " No ; she wrote to me." *' Oh, she writes to you ?" tlie other said. " Well, you see, I did not know her father had gone abroad, and I called. As a rule, she sees no one while lier fatlier is away ; on the other hand, she will not say she is not at home if she is at home. So she wrote me a note of apology for refusing to see me ; and in it she told me you liad been very kind to them, and how she had tried to read, and had read very badly, because she feared your criticism — " " I never heard anything like it !" Brand said ; and then lie corrected himself. "Well, yes, I have; I have heard you, Eve- lyn. You have been an admirable pupil." " Now when I think of it," said his friend, putting his hand in his breast-pocket, "this letter is mostly about you. Brand. Let me see if there is anything in it you may not see. No ; it is all very nice and friendly." lie was about to hand over the letter, when he stopped. " I do believe," he said, looking at Brand, " that you are capa- ble of thinking Natalie wrote this letter on purpose you should see it." " Then you do me a great injustice," Brand said, without an- ger. "And you do her a great injustice. I do not think it needs any profound judge of character to see what that girl is." " For that is one thing I could never forgive you, Brand." " What ?" " If you were to suspect Natalie Lind." This was no private and confidential communication that passed into Brand's hand, but a frank, gossiping, sisterly note, stretching out beyond its initial purpose. And there was no doubt at all that it was mostly about Brand himself; and the reader grew red as he went on. He had been so kind to them at Dover ; and so interested in her papa's woi'k ; and so anxious to be of service and in sympathy with them. And then she spoke as if he were definitely pledged to them ; and how proud she was to have another added to the list of her friends. George Brand's face was as red as his beard when he folded up the letter, lie did not immediately return it. " What a wonderful woman that is !" said he, after a time. " I did not think it would be left for a foreigner to teach me to be- lieve in England." 76 SUNRISE. Lord Evelyn looked up. "Oh," Brand said, instantly, " I know what you would ask: ' What is my belief worth ?' ' How much do I sympathize V Well, I can give you a plain answer: a shilling in the pound in- come-tax. If England is this stronghold of the liberties of En- rope — if it is her business to be the lamp-bearer of freedom — if she must keep her shores inviolate as the refuge of those who are oppressed and persecuted, well, then, I would pay a shilling in- come-tax, or double that, or treble that, to give her a navy that would sweep the seas. For a big army there is neither popula- tion, nor sustenance, nor room ; but I would give her such a navy as would let her put the world to defiance." " I wish Natalie would teach you to believe in a few other things while she is about it," said his friend, with a slight and rather sad smile. " For example ?" " In human nature a little bit, for example. In the possibility of a woman being something else than a drawing-room peacock, or worse. Do you think she could make you believe that it is possible for a woman to be noble-minded, unselfish, truth-speak- ing, modest, and loyal-hearted ?" " I presume you are describing Natalie Lind herself." "Oh," said his friend, with a quick surprise, "then you admit there may be an exception, after all ? You do not condemn the whole race of them now, as being incapable of even understand- ing what frank dealing is, or honor, or justice, or anything beyond their own vain and selfish caprices?" George Brand went to the window. " Perhaps," said he, " my experience of women has been un- fortunate, unusual. I have not had much chance, especially of late years, of studying them in their quiet domestic spheres. But otherwise I suppose my experience is not unusual. Every man begins his life, in his salad days, by believing the world to be a very fine thing, and women particularly to be very wonderful creatures — angels, in short, of goodness, and mercy, and trutli, and all the rest of it. Then, judging by what I have seen and heard, I should say that about nineteen men out of twenty get a regular facer — just at the most sensitive period of their life; and then they suddenly believe that women are devils, and the world a delusion. It is bad logic ; but they are not in a mood VACILLATION. 77 for reason. By-and-by the process of recovery begins; with some short, with others long. But the spring-time of belief, and hope, and rejoicing — I doubt whether that ever comes back." He spoke without any bitterness. If the facts of the world were so, they had to be accepted. "I swallowed my dose of experience a good many years ago," he continued, " but I haven't got it out of my blood yet. llow- ever, I will admit to you the possibility of there being a few women like Natalie Lind." " Well, this is better, at all events," Lord Evelyn said, cheer- fully. " Beauty, of course, is a dazzling and dangerous thing," Brand said ; " for a man always wants to believe that fine eyes and a sweet voice have a sweet soul behind them. And very often he finds behind them something in the shape of a soul that a dog or a cat would be ashamed to own. But as for Natalie Lind, I don't think one can be deceived. She shows too much. She vibrates too quickly — too inadvertently — to little chance touches. I did suspect her, I will confess. I thought she was hired to play the part of decoy. But 1 had not seen her for ten minutes before I was convinced she was playing no part at all." " But goodness gracious. Brand, what are we coming to ?" Lord Evelyn said, with a laugh. " What ! We already believe in England, and patriotism, and the love of freedom ? And we are prepared to admit that there is one woman — positively, in the world, one woman — who is not a cheat and a selfish coquette ? Why, where are we to end ?" "I don't think I said only one woman," Brand replied, quite good-naturedly ; and then he added, with a smile, " You ask where we are to end. Suppose I w^ere to accept your new religion, Evelyn ? Would that please you ? And would it please her, too ?" "Ah !" said his companion, looking up with a quick glance of pleasure. But he would argue no more. " Perhaps I have been too suspicious. It is a habit ; I have had to look after myself pretty much through the world ; and I don't overvalue the honesty of people I don't know. But w hen I once set my hand to the work, I am not likely to draw back." "You could be of so much more value to them than I can," said Lord Evelyn, wistfully. " I don't suppose you spend more than half of your income." 78 SUNRISE. "Oil, as to that," said Brand, at once, "that is a very different matter. If they like to take myself and what I can do, well and good ; money is a very different thing." His companion raised himself in his chair ; and there was sur- prise on his face. " How can you help them so well as with your money ?" he cried. " Why, it is the very thing they want most." " Oh, indeed !" said Brand, coldly, " You see, Evelyn, my fa- ther was a business man ; and I may have inherited a commercial way of looking at things. If I were to give away a lot of money to unknown people, for unknown purposes, I should say that I was being duped, and that they were putting the money in their own pocket." " My dear fellow !" Lord Evelyn protested ; " the need of mon- ey is most urgent. There are printing-presses to be kept going ; agents to be paid ; police-spies to be bribed — there is an enor- mous work to be done, and money must be spent." "x\ll the same," said Brand, who was invariably most resolved when he was most quiet in his manner, " I shall prefer not run- ning the chance of being duped in that direction. Besides, I am bound in honor not to do anything of the kind. I can fling ray- self away — that is my own lookout ; and my life, or the way I spend it, is not of great consequence to me. But my father's property, if anything happens to me, ought to go intact to my sister's boys, to whom, indeed, I have left it by will. I will say to Lind, ' Is it myself or my money that is wanted : you must choose.' " " The question would be an insult." " Oh, do you think so ? Very well ; I will not ask it. But that is the understanding." Then he added, more lightly, " Why, would you have the Pilgrim start with his pocket full of sover- eigns? His staff and his wallet are all he is entitled to. And when one is going to make a big plunge, shouldn't one strip?" There was no answer ; for Lord Evelyn's quick ear had caught the sound of wheels in the adjacent street. " There is my trap," he said, looking at his watch as he rose. Waters brought the young man his coat, and then went out to liofht him down-stairs. " Good-night, Brand. Glad to see you are getting into a whole- somer frame of mind. I shall tell Natalie you are now prepared VACILLATION. 79 to admit that there is in the world at least one woman who is not a cheat." " I hope yon will not utter a word to Miss Lind of any of the nonsense we have been talking," said Brand, hastily, and with his face grown red. " All right. By-the-way, when are you coming up to see the girls?" "To-morrow afternoon : will that do ?" "Very well ; I shall wait in." " Let mc see if I remember the order aright," said Brand, hold- ing up his fingers and counting. " Rosalys, Blanche, Ermentrude, Agnes, Jane, Frances, Geraldine : correct ?" "Quite. I think their mother must forget, at times. Well, good-night." " Good-night — good-night !" Brand returned to the empty room, and threw wide open one of the windows. The air was singularly mild for a night in March ; but he had been careful of his friend. Then he dropped into an easy-chair, and opened a letter. It was the letter from Natalie Lind, which lie had held in his hand ever since, eagerly hoping that Evelyn would forget it — as, in fact, he had done. And now with what a stransxe interest he read and re-read it ; and weighed all its phrases ; and tried to picture lier as she wrote these lines ; and studied even the pecu- liarities of the handwriting. There was a quaint, foreign look here and there — the capital B, for example, was written in Ger- man fashion ; and that letter occurred a good many times. It was Mr. Brand, and Mr. Brand, over and over again — in this friendly and frank gossip, which had all the brightness of a chat over a new acquaintance who interests one. He turned to the sign ature. " I "o« ?• friend, Na. ta lie.'''' Then he walked up and down, slowly and thoughtfully ; but ever and again he would turn to the letter to see that he had quite accurately remembered what she had said about the delight of the sail from Calais, and the beautiful flowers at Dover, and her gladness at the prospect of their having this new associate and friend. Then the handwriting again. The second stroke of the N in her name had a little notch at the top — German fash- ion. It looked a pretty name, as she wrote it. Then he went to the window, and leaned on the brass bar, and 80 SUNRISE. looked out on the dark and sleeping world, with its countless golden points of fire. He remained there a long time, thinking — of the past, in which he had fancied his life was buried ; of the present, with its bewildering uncertainties ; of the future, with its fascinating dreams. There might be a future for him, then, after all ; and hope; and the joy of companionship? Surely that let- ter meant at least so much. But then the boundlessness, the eager impatience, of human wishes ! Farther and farther, as he leaned and looked out, with- out seeing much of the wonderful spectacle before him, went his thoughts and eager hopes and desires. Companionship; but with whom ? And might not the spring-time of life come back again, as it was now coming back to the world in the sweet new air that had begun to blow from the South ? And what message did the soft night-wind bring him but the name of Natalie ? And Nata- lie was written in the clear and shining heavens, in letters of fire and joy ; and the river spoke of Natalie ; and the darkness mur- mured Natalie. But his heart, whispering to him — there, in the silence of the night, in the time when dreams abound, and visions of what may be — his heart, whispering to him, said — " Natalushka !" CHAPTER XL A COMMISSION. When Ferdinand Lind looked out next day from the window of his hotel, it was not at all the Venice of chromo-lithography that lay before him. The morning was wild, gray, and gloomy, with a blustering wind blowing down from the north ; the broad expanse of green water rufiled and lashed by continual squalls; the sea-gulls wheeling and dipping over the driven waves ; the dingy masses of shipping huddled along the wet and deserted quays ; the long spur of the Lido a thin black line between the green sea and the purple sky; and the domed churches over there, and the rows of tall and narrow and crumbling palaces overlooking the canals nearer at hand, all alike dismal and be- draggled and dark. When he went outside he shivered ; but at all events these A COMMISSION. 81 cokl, damp odors of the sea and tlie rainy wind were more grate- ful tliaii the nuistincss of tlic hotel. But the deserted look of the place! The gondolas, with their hcarse-like coverings on, lay empty and untended by the steps, as if waiting for a funeral procession. The men had taken shelter below the arehways, where they formed groups, silent, uncomfortable, sulky. The few passers-by on the wet (juays hurried along with their vohuuinous black cloaks wrapi)ed round their shoulders, and hiding most of the mahogany-colored faces. Even the plague of beggars had been dispersed ; they had slunk away shivering into the foul- smelling nooks and crannies. There was not a soul to give a handful of maize to the pigeons in the Place of St. Mark. But when Lind had got round into the Place, what was his surprise to find Calabressa having his breakfast in the open air at a small table in front of a cafe. He was quite alone there; but he seemed much content. In fact, he was laughing heartily, all to himself, at something he had been reading in the newspaper open before him. " Well," said Lind, when they had exchanged salutations, " this is a pleasant sort of morning for one to have one's break- fast outside !" " My faith," said Calabressa, " if yoii had taken as many breakfasts as I have shut up in a hole, you would be glad to get the chance of a mouthful of fresh air. Sit down, ray friend." Lind glanced round, and then sat down. " My good friend Calabressa," he said presently, *' for one con- nected as you are with certain persons, do you not think now that your costume is a little conspicuous? And then your sit- ting out here in broad daylight — " " My friend Lind," said he, with a laugh, " I am as safe here as if I were in Naples, which I believe to be the safest place in the world for one not in good odor with the authorities. And if there was a risk, would I not run it to hear my little nightin- gale over there when she opens the casements ? Ah ! she is the most charming Rosina in the world." " Yes, yes," said Lind. " I am not speaking of you. But — the others. The police must guess you are not here for nothing." "Oh, the others? Rest assured. The police might as well try to put their finger on a globule of quicksilver. It is but three days since they left the Piazza del Popolo, Torre del Greco. 4* 82 SUNRISE. To-morrow, if their business is finished to-night, they will vanish again ; and I shall be dismissed." " If their business is finished ?" repeated Lind, absently. " Yes ; but I should like to know why they have summoned mo all the way from England. They cannot mean — " " My dear friend Lind," said Calabressa, " you must not look so grave. Nothing that is going to happen is worth one's trou- bling one's self about. It is the present moment that is of conse- quence ; and at the present moment I have a joke for you. You know" Armfeldt, who is now at Berne : they had tried him only four times in Berlin; and there was only a little matter of nine vears' sentence acrainst him. Listen." He took up the Osservatore^ and read out a paragraph, stating that Dr. Julius Armfeldt had again been tried in contumaciam, and sentenced to a further term of two years' imprisonment, for seditious writing. Further, the publisher of his latest pamphlet, a citizen of Berne, had likewise been sentenced in his absence to twelve months' imprisonment. " Do they think Armfeldt will live to be a centenarian, that they keep heaping up those sentences against him? Or is it as another inducement for him to go back to his native country and give himself up ? It is a great joke, this childish proceeding ; but a Government should not declare itself impotent. It is like the Austrians when they hanged you and the others in effigy. Now I remember, the little Natalushka was grieved that she was not born then ; for she wished to see the spectacle, and to have killed the people who insulted her father." " I am afraid it is no joke at all," Lind said, gloomily. "Those Swiss people are craven. What can you expect from a nation of hotel-waiters? They cringe before every bully in Europe; you will find that, if Bismarck insists, the Federal Council will ex- pel Armfeldt from Switzerland directly. No ; the only safe ref- uge nowadays for the reformers, the Protestants, the pioneers of Europe, is England ; and the English do not know it ; they do not think of it. They are so accustomed to freedom that they believe that is the only possible condition, and that other nations must necessarily enjoy it. When you talk to them of tyranny, of political persecution, they laugh. They cannot understand such a thing existing. They fancy it ceased when Bomba's dungeons were opened." A COMMISSION. 83 "For my part," said Calabressa, liL^litiiig a cigarette, and call- ing for a small glass of cognac, " I am content with Naples." "And the protection of pickpockets?" " My friend," said the other, coolly, " if you refer to tlie most honorable the association of the Camorristi, I would advise you not to speak too loud." Calabressa rose, having settled his score with the waiter. " Allons !" said he. " What are you going to do to-day?" " I don't know," said Lind, discontentedly. " May the devil fly away with this town of Venice ! I never come here bat it is either freezing or suffocating." "You are in an evil humor to-day, friend Lind; you have caught the English spleen. Come, I have a little business to do over at Murano ; the breeze will do you good. And I will tell you the story of my escape." The time had to be passed somehow. Lind walked with his companion along to the steps, descended, and jumped into a gon- dola, and presently they were shooting out into the turbulent green water that the wind drove against the side of the boat in a succession of sharp shocks. Seated in the little funereal com- partment, they could talk without much fear of being heard by either of the men; and Calabressa began his tale. It was not romantic. It was simply a case of bribery ; the money to effect which had certainly not come out of Calabressa's shallow pock- ets. In the midst of the story — or, at least, before the end of it — Lind said, in a low voice, " Calabressa, have you any sure grounds for what you said about Zaccatelli?" Ilis companion glanced quickly outside. " It is you are now indiscreet," he said, in an equally low voice. " But yes ; I think that is the business. However," he added, in a gayer tone, " what matter ? To-day is not to-morrow ; to-morrow will shift for itself." And therewith he continued his story, though his listener seemed singularly preoccupied and thoughtful. They arrived at the island, got out, and walked into the court- yard of one of the smaller glass-works. There were one or two of the workmen passing ; and here something occurred that seemed to arrest Lind's attention. " What, here also ?" said he, in a low voice. 84 SUNRISE. "Every one; the master included. It is with him I have to do this little piece of business. Now you will be so good as to wait for a short time, will you not? — and it is warm in there; I will be with you soon." Lind walked into the large workshop, where there were a num- ber of people at work, all round the large, circular, covered cal- dron, the various apertures into which sent out fierce rays of light and heat. He walked about, seemingly at his ease ; look- ing at the apprentices experimenting ; chatting to the workmen. And at last he asked one of these to make for him a little vase in opalescent glass, that he could take to his daughter in Eng- land ; and could he put the letter N on it somewhere ? It was at least some occupation, watching the quick and dexterous handling under which the little vase grew into form, and had its decoration cleverly pinched out, and its tiny bits of color added. The letter N was not very successful ; but then Natalie would know that her father had been thinking of her at Venice. This excursion at all events tided over the forenoon ; and when the two companions returned to the wet and disconsolate city, Calabressa was easily persuaded to join his friend in some sort of mid-day meal. After that, the long-haired albino-looking per- son took his leave, having arranged how Lind was to keep the assignation for that evening. The afternoon cleared up somewhat ; but Ferdinand Lind seemed to find it dull enough. He went out for an aimless stroll through some of the narrow back streets, slowly making his way among the crowd that poured along tliese various ways. Then he returned to liis hotel, and wrote some letters. Then he dined early; but still the time did not seem to pass. He resolved on getting through an hour or so at the theatre. A gondola swiftly took him away through the labyrinth of small and gloomy canals, until at length the wan orange glare shining out into the night showed him that he was drawing near one of the entrances to the Fenice. If he had been less preoccupied — less eager to think of nothing but how to get the slow hours over — he might have noticed the strangeness of the scene before him : the successive gondolas stealing silently up througli the gloom to the palely lit stone steps ; the black cof- fins appearing to open ; and then figures in white and scarlet opera-cloaks getting out into the dim liglit, to ascend into the A COMMISSION. 85 brilliant glare of the theatre staircase. lie, too, followed, and got into the place assigned to him. But this spectacular dis- play failed to interest him. He turned to the bill, to remind him what he had to see. The blaze of color on the stage — the various combinations of movement — the resounding music — all seemed part of a dream ; and it annoyed him somehow. He rose and left. The intervening time he spent chiefly in a cafe close by the theatre, where he smoked cigarettes and appeared to read the newspapers. Then he wandered away to the spot appointed for him to meet a particular gondola, and arrived there half an hour too soon. But the guiidula was there also. lie jumped in and was carried away through the silence of the night. When he arrived at the door, which was opened to him by Calabressa, he had contrived to throw off, by a strong effort of will, any appearance of anxiety. lie entered and sat down, say- ing only, "Well!— what news.?" Calabressa laughed slightly ; and went to a cupboard, and brought forth a bottle and two small glasses. "If you were Zaccatclli," he said, "I would say to you, 'My Lord,' or ' Your Excellency,' or whatever they call those flamin- goes with the bullet heads, ' I would advise you to take a little drop of this very excellent cognac, for you are about to hear something, and you will need steady nerves.' Meanwhile, Broth- er Lind, it is not forbidden to you and me to have a glass. The Council provide excellent liquor." " Thank you, I have no need of it," said Lind, coldly. " ^Miat do you mean about Zaccatclli ?" " This," said the other, filling liimself out a glass of the brandy, and then proceeding to prepare a cigarette. " If the moral sense of the country, too long outraged, should determine to punish the Starving Cardinal, I believe he will get a good year's notice to prepare for liis doom. You perceive ? What harm does sudden death to a man ? It is nothing. A moment of pain ; and you have all the happiness of sleep, indifference, forgetfulness. That is no punishment at all : do you perceive ?" Calabressa continued, airily — " People are proud when they say they do not fear death. The fools ! What has any one to fear in death ? To the poor it 86 SUNRISE. means no more hunger, no more imprisonment, no more cold and sickness, no more watcliing of your children when they are suf- fering and you cannot help ; to the rich it means no more tri- umph of rivals, and envy, and jealousy ; no more sleepless nights and ennui of days ; no more gout, and gravel, and the despair of growing old. Death ! It is the great emancipation. And peo- ple talk of the punishment of death !" He gave a long whistle of contempt. " But," said he, with a smile, " it is a little bit difEerent if you have to look forward to your death on a certain fixed day. Then you begin to overvalue things — a single hour of life becomes something." He added, in a tone of affected condolence — *' Then one wouldn't wish to cause any poor creature to say his last adieux without some preparation. And in the case of a cardinal, is a year too little for repentance ? Oh, he will put it to excellent use." " Very well, very well," said Ferdinand Lind, with an impatient frown gathering over the shaggy eyebrows. " But I want to know what I have to do with all this ?" " Brother Lind," said the other, mildly, " if the Secretary Gra- naglia, knowing that I am a friend of yours, is so kind as to give me some hints of what is under discussion, I listen, but I ask no questions. And you — I presume you are here not to protest, but to obey." "Understand me, Calabressa : it was only to you as a friend that I spoke," said Lind, gravely. And then he added, " The Council will not find, at all events, that I am recusant." A few minutes afterward the bell rung, and Calabressa jumped to his feet ; while Lind, in spite of himself, started. Presently the portiere was drawn aside, and the little sallow-complexioned man whom he had seen on the previous evening entered the room. On this occasion, however, Calabressa was motioned to withdraw, and immediately did so. Lind and the stranger were left together. " I need scarcely inform you. Brother Lind," said he, in a slow and matter-of-fact way, " that I am the authorized spokesman of the Council." As he said this, for a moment he rested his hand on the table. There was on the forefinger a large ring, with a red stone in it, engraved. Lind bowed acquiescence. A COMMISSION. 87 " Calabrcssa, lias no doubt, informed you of the matter before the Council. That is now decided ; the decree has been signed. Zaccatelli dies within a year from this day. The motives which have led to this decision may hereafter be explained to you, even if they have not already occurred to you ; they are motives of policy, as regards ourselves and the progress of our work, as well as of justice." Ferdinand Lind listened, without response. " It has further been decided that the blow be struck from England." *' England !" was the involuntary exclamation. " Yes," said the other, calmly. " To give full effect to such a warning it must be clear to the world that it has nothing to do with any private revenge or low intrigue. Assassination has been too frequent in Italy of late. The doubting throughout the world must be convinced that we have agents everywhere ; and that we are no mere local society for the revenging of private wrongs." Lind again bowed assent. " Further," said the other, regarding him, " the Council charge you with the execution of the decree." Lind had almost expected this : he did not flinch. " After twelve months' grace granted, you will be prepared with a sure and competent agent who will give effect to the decree of the Council ; failing such a one, the duty will devolve on your own shoulders." " On mine !" he was forced to exclaim. " Surely — " "Do you forget," said the other, calmly, "that sixteen years ago your life was forfeited, and given back to you by the Council ?" " So I understood," said Lind. " But it was not my life that was given me then ? — only the lease of it till the Council should claim it again. However 1" He drew himself up, and the powerful face was full of de- cision. " It is well," said he. " I do not complain. If I exact obedi- ence from others, I, too, obey. The Council shall be served." " Further instructions shall be given you. Meanwhile, the Council once more thank you for your attendance. Farewell, brother !" " Farewell, brother 1" 88 SUNRISE. When lie had gone, and the bell again rung, Calabressa reap- peared. Lind was too proud a man to betray any concern. " It is as you told me, Calabressa," said he, carelessly, as his friend proceeded to light him down the narrow staircase. "And I am charged with the execution of their vengeance. "Well ; I ■wish I had been present at their deliberations, that is all. This deed may answer so far as the continental countries are concern- ed; but, so far as England is concerned, it will undo the work of years." " What ! — England !" exclaimed Calabressa, lightly — " where they blow up a man's house with gunpowder, or dash vitriol in his face, if he works for a shilling a day less wages?— where they shoot landlords from behind hedges if the rent is raised? — where they murder policemen in the open street, to release political pris- oners? No, no, friend Lind; I cannot believe that." " However, that is not my business, Calabressa. The Council shall be obeyed. I am glad to know you are again at liberty ; when you come to England you will see how your little friend Natalie has grown." "Give a kiss from me to the little Natalushka," said he, cheer- fully ; and then the two parted. CHAPTER XII. JACTA EST ALE A, " Natalie," said her father, entering the breakfast-room, " I have news for you to-day. This evening Mr. Brand is to be initiated." The beautiful, calm face betrayed no surprise. "That is always the way," she answered, almost absently. " One after the other they go in ; and I only am left out, alone." " What," he said, patting her shoulder as he passed, " are you still dreaming of reviving the Giardiniere? Well, it w^as a pretty idea to call each sister in the lodge by the name of a flower. But nowadays, and in England especially, if women intermeddled in such things, do you know what they would be called ? Petro- leuses r JACTA EST ALEA. 89 " Names do not luirt," said the girl, proudly. " No, no. Rest content, Natalie. You are initiated far enougb. You know all that needs to be known ; and you can work with us, and associate with us like the rest. But about Brand; are you not pleased T' " I am indeed pleased, papa." "And I am more than i)lea.sed," said Lind, thoughtfully. " lie will be the most important accession we have had for many a day. Ah, you women have sharp eyes; but there are some things you cannot see — there are some men whose character yon cannot read." Natalie glanced up quickly ; and her father noticed that sur- prised look. " Well," said he, with a smile, " what now is your opinion of Mr. Brand ?" Instantly the soft eyes were cast down again, and a faint tinge of color appeared in her face. "Oh, my opinion, papa?" said she, as if to gain time to choose her words. " Well, I should call him manly, straightforward — and — and very kind — and — and very English — " " I understand you perfectly, Natalie," her father said, with a laugh. " You and Lord Evelyn are quite in accord. Yes, and you are both thoroughly mistaken. You mean, by bis being so English, that he is cold, critical, unsympathetic: is it not so? You resent his being cautious about joining us. You think he will be but a lukewarm associate — suspecting everything — fearful about going too far — a half-and-half ally. My dear Natalie, that is because neither Lord Evelyn nor you know anything at all about that man." The faint color in the girl's checks had deepened ; and she remained silent, with her face downcast. " Tiie pliable ones," her father continued, "the people who are moved by fine talking, who are full of amiable sentiments, and who take to work like ours as an additional sentiment — you may initiate a thousand of them, and not gain an atom of strength. It is a hard head that I want, and a strong will ; a man deter- mined to have no illusions at the outset ; a man who, once pledged, will not despair or give up in the face of failure, diffi- culty, or disappointment, or anything else. Brand is such a man. If I were to be disabled to - morrow, I would rather leave my 90 , SUNRISE, work in his hands than in the hands of any man I have seen in this country." "Was it to hide the deepening color in her face that the girl went round to her father, and stood ratlier beliind him, and put her hand on his shoulder, and stooped down to his ear. " Papa," said she, " I — I hope you don't think I have been saying anything against Mr. Brand. Oh no. How could I do that — when he has been so kind to us — and — and just now espe- cially, when he is about to become one of us ? You must forget what I said about his being English, papa; after all, it is not for us to say that being English is anything else than being kind, and generous, and hospitable. And I am exceedingly pleased that you have got another associate, and that we have got another good friend, in England." " Alors, as Calabressa would say, you can show that you are pleased, Natalie," her father said, lightly, " by going and writing a pretty little note, asking your new friend, Mr. Brand, to dine with us to-night, after the initiation is over. And I will ask Eve- lyn, if I see him." But this proposal in nowise seemed to lessen the girl's embar- rassment. She still clung about the back of her father's chair. " I would rather not do that, papa," said she, after a second. " Why ? why ?" said he. "AVould it not look less formal for you to ask him, papa? You see, it is once or twice that we have asked him to dine with us without giving him proper notice — " "Oh, that is nothing — nothing at all. A bachelor with an evening disengaged is glad enough to fill it up anyhow. Well, if you would rather not write, Natalie, I will ask him myself." " Thank you, papa," said she, apparently much relieved ; and therewith she went back to her seat, and her father turned to his newspaper. The day passed, and the evening came. As six o'clock was striking, George Brand presented himself at the little door in Lisle Street, Soho, and was admitted. Lind had already assured him that, as far as England was concerned, no idle mummeries were associated with the ceremony of initiation ; to which Brand had calmly replied, that if mummeries were considered neces- sary, he was as ready as any one to do his part of the business. Only he added that he thought the unknown powers had acted JACTA EST ALE A. 91 wisely — so far as England was concerned — in discarding such things. AVlicn Lc entered the room, bis first glance round was reassur- ing. There were six persons present besides Lind, and they did nut at all suggest the typical Leicester Square foreigner. On the contrary, be guessed that four out of the six were either English or Irish; and two of them be recognized, though they were un- known to him personally. The one was a Home Mule M.P., fero- cious enough in the House of Commons, but celebrated as the most brilliant, and amiable, and fascinating of diners-out ; the other was an Oxford don, of large fortune and wildly Radical views, who wrote a good deal in the papers. There Avas a mur- mur of conversation going on, which ceased as Lind briefly intro- duced the new-comer. The ceremony, if ceremony it could be called, was simple enough. The candidate for admission was required to sign a printed document, solemnly pledging himself to devote bis life, and the labor of his bands and brain, to the work of the associ- ation ; to implicitly obey any command reaching him from the Council, or communicated through an officer of the first degree ; and to preserve inviolable secrecy. Brand read this paper through twice, aud signed it. It was then signed by the seven witnesses. He was further required to inscribe his signature in a large vol- ume, which contained a list of members of a particular section. That done, the six strangers present shook him by the band, and left. He looked round surprised. Had be been dreaming during these brief five minutes ? Yet be could bear the noise of their going down-stairs. "AVell," said Mr. Lind, with a smile, "it is not a very terri- ble ceremony, is it ? Did you expect prostrations at the altar ; and blindfold gropings, and the blessing of the dagger ? When you come to know a little more of our organization, of its extent and its power, you will understand bow we can afford to dis- pense with all those theatrical ways of frightening people into obedience and secrecv." " I expected to find Evelyn here," said George Brand. He was, in truth, just a little bit bewildered as yet. He bad been assured that there would be no foolish mummeries or fantastic rites of initiation ; 1)ut all the same be had been much occupied 92 SUNKISE. with tliis step he was about to take ; he had been thinking of it much ; he had been looking forward to soraetliing unknown ; and he Lad been nerving himself to encounter whatever might come before him. But that five minutes of silence ; the quick reading and signing of a pajjer ; the sudden disj^ersion of the small as- semblage: he could scarcely believe it was all real. " No," Lind said, " Lord Evelyn is not yet an officer. He is only a Companion in the third degree, like yourself." "A what?" "A Companion in the third degree. Surely you read the doc- ument that you signed ?" It was still lying on the table before him. He took it up ; yes, he certainly was so designated there. Yet he could not re- member seeing the .phrase, though he had, before signing, read every word twice over. "And now, Mr. Brand," his companion said, seating himself at the other side of the table, " when you have got over, your sur- prise that there should be no ceremony, it will become my duty to give you some idea — some rough idea — of the mechanism and aims of our association, and to siiow you in what measure we are allied with other societies. The details you will become acquainted with by-and-by ; that will be a labor of time. And you know, of course, or you have guessed, that there are no mys- teries to be revealed to you, no profound religious truths to be communicated, no dogmas to be accepted. I am afraid we are very degenerate descendants of the Mystics, and the Illuminati, and all the rest of them ; we have become prosaic ; our wants are sadly material. And yet we have our dreams and aspirations, too; and the virtues that we exact — obedience, temperance, faith, self- sacrifice — are not ignoble. Meanwhile, to begin. I think you may prepare yourself to be astonished." But astonishment was no word for the emotion experienced by the newly admitted member when Ferdinand Lind proceeded to give him, with careful facts and sober computations, some rough outline of the extent and power of this intricate and far-reaching organization. Hitherto the word " International " had with him been associated with the ridiculous fiasco at Geneva; but here was something, not calling itself international, which aimed at nothing less than knitting together the multitudes of the nations, not only in Europe, but in the English and French and German JACTA EST ALEA, 93 spealcitiGj territories beyond the seas, in a solemn leaGjnc — a leai^uc for .self-protection and mutual understanding, for tlie preservation of international peace, the spread of knowledge, the outbraving of tyranny, the defiance of religious intolerance, the relief of the oppressed, the lu'lp of the poor, and the sick, and the weak. This was no cutthroat conspiracy or wild scheme of confiscation and [)lunder; but a design for the establishment of wide and be- neficent law — a law which should protect, not the ambition of kings, not the pride of armies, not the revenues of priests, but the rights and the liberties of those who were "darkening in labor and pain." And this message, that could go forth alike to the Camorristi and the Nihilists ; to the Free Masons and the Good Templars ; to the Trades- unionists and tlie Knights of Labor — to all those masses of men moved by the spirit of co-operation — " See, broth- ers, what we have to show you. Some of you are aiming at chaos and perdition ; others putting wages as their god and sovereign ; others content with a vague philanthropy almost barren of results. This is all the help we want of you — to pledge yourselves to as- sociate with us, to accept our modest programme of actual needs, to give help to those who are in want or trouble, to promise that you will stand by us in the time to come. And when the time does come; when we are combined; when knowledge is abroad, and mutual trust, who will say ' Yes ' if the voice of the people in every nation murmurs ' No V What priest will reimpose the Inquisition on us; what king drive us to shed blood that his robes may have the richer dye; what policeman in high places endeavor to stamp out our God-given' right of free speech ? It is so little for you to grant ; it is so much for you, and for us, to gain !" These were not the words he uttered — for Lind spoke English slowly and carefully — but the}' were the spirit of his words. And as he went on describing to this new member what had already been done, what was being done, and the great possibili- ties of the future, Brand began to wonder whether all this gigan- tic scheme, with its simple, bold, and practical outlines, were the work of this one man. He ventured by-and-by to hint at some such question. "Mine?" Lind said, frankly. "All no I nut the inspiration of it. I am only the mechanic putting brick and brick togetlier; the design is not mine, nor that of anv one man. It is an aggre- 9-4 SUNRISE, gate project — a speculation occupying many a long hour of im- prisonment — a scheme to be handed from one to the other, with alterations and suggestions." "But even your share of it — how can one man control so much V Brand said ; for he easily perceived what a mass of de- tail had to pass through this man's hands. " I will tell you," said the other. "Because every stone added to the building is placed there for good. There is no looking back. There are no pacifications of revolt. No questions; but absolute obedience. You see, we exact so little : why should any one rebel ? However, you will learn more and more as you go on ; and soon your work will be appointed you. Meanwhile, I thank you, brother." Lind rose and shook his hand. " Now," said he, " that is enough of business. It occurred to me this morning that, if you had nothing else to do this evening, you might come and dine with us, and give Natalie the chance of meeting you in your new character." "I shall be most pleased," said Brand; and his face flushed. "I telegraphed to Evelyn. If he is in town, perhaps he will join us. Shall we walk home ?" " n you like." So they went out together into the glare and clamor of the streets. George Brand's heart was very full with various emo- tions ; but, not to lose altogether his English character, he pre- served a somewhat critical tone as he talked. " Well, Mr. Lind," he said, " so far as I can see and hear, your scheme has been framed not only with great ability, but also with a studied moderation and wisdom. The only point I would urge is this — that, in England, as little as possible should be said about kings and priests. A great deal of what you said would scarcely be understood here. You see, in England it is not the Crown nowadays which instigates or insists on war ; it is Parliament and the people. Dynastic ambitions do not trouble us. There is no reason whatever why we here should hate kings when they are harmless." " You are right ; the case is diflEerent," Lind admitted. " But that makes adhesion to our programme all the easier." " I was only speaking of the policy of mentioning things which might alarm timid people. Then as for the priests ; it may be JACTA EST ALEA. 95 tlie interest of the priests in Ireland to keep the peasantry if^no- rant ; but it is eertainly not so in Enghind. The Ciiurch of Eng- land fosters education — " "Are not your clergymen the bitterest enemies of the School Board schools ?" "Well, they may dislike seeing education dissociated from re- ligion — that is natural, considering what they believe; but they are not necessary enemies of education. Perhaps I am a very young member to think of making such a suggestion. But the truth is, that when an ordinary Englishman hears anything said against kings and priests, he merely thinks of kings and priests as he knows them — and as being mostly harmless creatures now- adays — and concludes that you are a Communist wanting to overturn society altogether." " Precisely so. I told Natalie this morning that if she were to be allowed to join our association her English friends would imagine her to be a pctroleusey " Miss Lind is not in the association ?" Brand said, quickly, "As yet no women have been admitted. It is a difficulty; for in some societies with which we are partly in alliance women are members. Ah, such noble creatures many of them are, too ! However, the question may come forward by -and- by. In the mean time, Natalie, without being made aware of what we are actually doing — that, of course, is forbidden — knows something of what our work must be, and is warm in her sympathy. She is a good help, too : she is the quickest translator we have got." " Do you think," Brand said, somewhat timidly, but with a frown on his face, " that it is fair to put such tedious labor on the shoulders of a young girl ? Surely there are enough of men to do the work ?" "You shall propose that to her yourself," Lind said, laughing. Well, they arrived at the house in Curzon Street, and, when they went up-stairs to the drawing-room, they found Lord Eve- lyn there. Natalie Lind came forward — with less than usual of her graciously self-possessed maimer — and shook hands with him briefly, and said, with averted look, " I am glad to see you, Mr. Brand." Now, as her eyes were cast down, it was impossible that she could have noticed the quick expression of disappointment that crossed his face. Was it that she herself was instantly conscious 96 SUNRISE. of the coldness of her greeting, and anxious to atone for that? Was it that she phicked up heart of grace? At all events, she suddenly ofiered him both her hands with a frank courage ; she looked hira in the face with the soft, tender, serious eyes ; and then, before she turned away, the low voice said, " Brother, I welcome you !" CHAPTER XIII. SOUTHWARD. After a late, cold, and gloomy spring, a glimpse of early sum- mer shone over the land; and after a long period of anxious and oftentimes irritating and disappointing travail — in wet and dis- mal towns, in comfortless inns, with associates not always to his liking — George Brand was hurrying to the South. Ah, the thought of it, as the train whirled along on this sunlit morning! After the darkness, the light ; after fighting, peace ; after the hard task-work, a look, a smile of reward ! No more than that was his hope ; but it was a hope that kept his heart afire and glad on many a lonely night. At length his companion, who had slept steadily on since ever they had entered the train at Carlisle, at about one in the morn- ing, awoke, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the window. " We are going to have a fine day at last, Humphreys," said Brand. " Thev have been having better weather in the South, sir." The man looked like a well-dressed mechanic. He had an in- telligent face, keen and hard. He spoke with the Newcastle burr. " I wish you would not call me ' sir,' " Brand said, impatiently. " It comes natural, somehow, sir," said the other, with great simplicity. " There is not a man hi any part of the country but would say 'sir' to one of the Brands of Darlington. When Mr. Lind telegraphed to me you were coming down, I telegraphed back, ' Is he one of the Brands of Darlington V and when I got his answer I said to myself, ' Here is the man to go to the Polit- ical Committee of the Trades-union Congress: they won't fight shy of liim.' " " Well, we have no great cause to grumble at what has been SOUTHWAKD. 97 (lone ill tliat direction ; but that infernal Internationale is doing a deal of luiscliief. There is not a trades-unionist in the country who does not know what is going on in France. A handful of irresponsible madmen trying to tack themselves on to the work- men's association — well, surely the men will have more sense than to listen. The conr/rhs ouvrier to change its name, and to become the congrcs revolutionnaire ! When 1 tirst went to Jackson, Moly- ncux, and the others, I found they had a sort of suspicion that we wanted to make Communists of them and tear society to pieces." " You have done more in a couple of months, sir, than we all have done in the last ten years," his companion said. " That is impossible. Look at — " He named some names, certain of them well known enough. The other shook his head. " Where we have been they don't believe in London professors, and speech-makers, and chaps like that. They know that the North is the backbone and the brain of England, and in the North they want to be spoken to by a North-countryman." " I am a Buckinghamshire man.'' "That may be where you live, sir; but you are one of the Brands of Darlington," said the other, doggedly. By-and-by they entered the huge, resounding station. " Wliat are you going to do to-night, Humphreys? Come and have some dinner with me, and we will look in afterward at the Century." Humphreys looked embarrassed for a moment. "I was thinking of going to the Coger's Hall, sir," said he, hitting upon an excuse. " I have beard some good speaking there." "Mostly bunkum, isn't it?" " No, siV." "All right. Then I shall see you to-morrow morning in Lisle Street. Good-bye." He jumped into a hansom, and was presently rattling away through the busy streets. How sweet and fresh was the air, even here in the midst of the misty and ijolden city ! The early summer was abroad ; there was a flush of green on the trees in the squares. When he got down to the Embankment, he was quite surprised by the beauty of the gardens; there were not many gardens in the towns he had chiefly been living in. 5 98 SUNRISE. lie daslied up the narrow wooden stairs. " Look alive now, Waters : get iny bath ready." " It is ready, sir." "Andbrealcfast!" " Whenever you please, sir." He took off his dust-smothered travelling-coat, and was about to fling it on the couch, when he saw lying there two pieces of some brilliant stuff that were strange to him. " What are these things ?" " They were left, sir, by Mr. , of Bond Street, on approval. He will call this afternoon." "Tell him to go to the devil!" said Brand, briefly, as he walked off into his bedroom. Presently he came back. " Stay a bit," said he ; and he took up the two long strips of silk-embroidered stuff — Florentine work, probably, of about the end of the sixteenth century. The ground was a delicate yellow- ish-gray, with an initial letter worked in various colors over it. Mr. , of Bond Street, knew that Brand had often amused his idle hours abroad in picking up things like this, chiefly as pres- ents to lady friends, and no doubt thought they would be wel- come enough, even for bachelors' rooms. " Tell him I will take them." " But the price, sir ?" "Ask him his price; beat him down; and keep the differ- ence." After bath and breakfast there was an enormous pile of corre- spondence awaiting him ; for not a single letter referring to his own affairs had been forwarded to him for over two months. He had thrown his entire time and care into his work in the North. And now that these arrears had to be cleared off, he at- tacked the business with an obvious impatience. Formerly he had been used to dawdle over his letters, getting through a good portion of the forenoon with them and conversations with Wa- ters about Buckinghamshire news. Now, even with that omni- scient factotum by his side, his progress was slow, simply because he was hurried. He made dives here and there, without system, without settlement. At last, looking at his watch, he jumped up : it was half-past eleven. " Some other time, Waters — some other time ; the man must SOUTUWARD. 99 wait," he said to the astonislicd but patient person beside him. " If Lord Evelyn calls, tell him I shall look in at the Century to-night." " Yes, sir." Some half-hour thereafter he was standing in Park Lane, his heart beating somewhat quiokly, his eyes fixed eagerly on two figures that were crossing the thoroughfare lower down, to one of the gates leading into Hyde Park. These were Natalie Lind and the little Auneli. lie had known that he would see her thus ; he had imagined the scene a thousand times ; he had pict- ured to himself every detail — the trees, the tall railings, the spring flowers in the plots, and the little rosy-checked German girl walk- ing by her mistress's side; and yet, now that this familiar thing had come true, he trembled to behold it ; lie breathed quickly ; he could not go forward to her and hold out his hand. Slowly, for they were walking slowly, he went along to the gate and en- tered after them ; cautiously, lest she should turn suddenly and confront him with her eyes ; drawn, and yet fearing to follow. She was talking with some animation to her companion ; though even in this profound silence he could not hear the sound of her voice. But he could see the beautiful oval of her face ; and sometimes, when she turned with a laugh to the little Anneli, he caught a glimpse of the black eyes and eyelashes, the smiling lips and brilliant teeth ; and once or twice she put out the palm of her right hand with a little gesture which, despite her English dress, would have told a stranger that she was of foreign ways. But the look of welcome, the smile of reward that he had been looking forward to ? Well, Mr. Lind was in America; and during his absence his daughter saw but few visitors. There was no particular reason why, supposing that George Brand met Xatalie in the street, he should not go up and shake hands with her; and many a time, in these mental pictures of his of her morning walk with the rosy- cheeked Anneli, he imagined himself confronting her under the shadow of the trees, and perhaps walking some way with her, to listen once more to the clear, low vibrations of lier musical voice. But no sooner had he seen her come into Park Lane — the vision become real — than he felt he could not go up antl speak to her. If he had met her by accident, perhaps he might ; but to watch her, to entrap her, to break in on her wishcd-for isolation under 100 SUNRISE. false pretences — all that he suddenly felt to be impossible. He could follow ber with his heart; but the sound of her voice, the touch of her band, tbe smile of tbe calm, beautiful, dark eyes, were as remote for him as if she, too, were beyond the broad Atlantic. He was not much given to introspection and analysis; during the past two months luore especially he had been far too busy to be perpetually ashing " Why ? why ?" — the vice of indolence. It was enough that, in the cold and the wet, there was a fire in his heart that kept him glad with thinking of the fair days to come ; and that, in the foggy afternoons or the lonely nights when he was alone, and perhaps despondent or impatient over the stupid- ity or contumacy he had had to encounter, there came to him tlie soft murmur of a voice from far away — proud, sad, and yet full of consolation and hope : " —But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant. Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present, That clothe yourselves with the cold future air ; When mother and father, and tender sister and brother, And the old live love that was shall be as ye, Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be. — She shall be yet who is more than all these were, Than sister or wife or father unto us, or mother." He could hear her voice ; he could see the beautiful face grow pale with its proud fervor ; he could feel the soft touch of her hand when she came forward and said, " Brother, I welcome you!" And now that she was there before him, the gladness in his heart at the mere sight of her was troubled with a trembling fear and pain. She was but a stone's-throw in front of him ; but she seemed far away. The world was young around her ; and she belonged to the time of youth and of hope ; life, that he had been ready to give up as a useless and aimless thing, was only opening out before her, full of a thousand beauties, and wonders, and possibilities. If only he could have taken her hand, and looked into her eyes, and claimed that smile of welcome, he would have been nearer to her. Surely, in one thing at least they were in sympathy. There was a bond between them. If the past had divided them, the future would bring them more to- SOUTIIWAKI). 101 gethcr. Did not the Pil^jriins go by in bands, until death struck down its victims here and thci } NataHe knew nothing of all this vague longing, and doubt, and pain in the breast of one who was so near her. She was in a gay mood. The morning w;,s beautiful ; the soft wind after the rain brouo-ht whiffs of scent from the distant rose-red hawthorn. Though she was here under shadow of the trees, the sun beyond shone on the fresh and moist grass ; and at the end of the glades there were glimpses of brilliant color in the foliage — the golden glow of the laburnum, the lilac blaze of the rhododendron bushes. And how still the place was ! Far off there was a dull roar of car- riages in Piccadilly ; but here there was nothing but the bleating of the sheep, the chirp of the young birds, the stir of the wind among the elms. Sometimes he could now catch the sound of her voice. She was in a g^y humor. When she got to the Serpentine — the north bank was her favorite promenade : she could see on the other side, just below the line of leaves, the people passing and repassing on horseback ; but she was not of them — she found a number of small and ragged urchins wading. They had no boat; but they had the bung of a barrel, which served, and that they were pusliing through the water with twigs and sticks ; their shapeless boots they had left on the bank. Now, as it seemed to Brand, who w'as watching from a distance, she planned a scheme. Anneli was seen to go ahead of the boys, and speak to them. Their attention being thus distracted, the young mistress stepped rapidly down to the tattered boots, and dropped something in each. Then she withdrew, and was rejoined by her maid; they walked away without waiting to see the result of their machina- tions. But George Brand, following by-and-by, heard one of the urchins call out with wonder that he had found a penny \r\ his shoe ; and this extraordinary piece of news brought back his com- rades, who rather mechanically began to examine their foot-gear too. And then the amazement ! — and the looks around ! — and the examination of the pence, lest that treasure should vanish away ! Brand went up to them. " Look here, you young stupids ; don't you see that tall lady away along there by the boat-house — why don't you go and thank her r But they were either too shy or too incredulous ; so he left them. He did not forget the incident. 102 SUNRISE. Perhaps it was that tlie heavens had grown dark in the south- west, threatening a shower; butj at all events, Natalie soon turned and set out on her homeward way, giving tliis unknown spy some trouble to escape observation. But when she had passed, he again followed, now with even greater unrest and pain at his heart. For would not she soon disappear, and the outer world grow empty, and the dull hours have to be faced? He had come to London with such hope and gladness; now the very sunlight was to be taken out of his life by the shutting of a door in Curzon Street. Fate, however, was kinder to him than he had dared to hope. As Natalie was returning home, he ventured to draw a little nearer to her, but still with the greatest caution, for he would have been overcome with shame if she had detected him dogging her foot- steps in this aimless, if innocent, manner. And now that she had got close to her own door, he had drawn nearer still — on the other side of the street; he so longed to catch one more glimpse of the dark eyes smiling, and the mobile, proud mouth. But just as the door was being opened from within, a man who had evi- dently been watching his chance thrust himself before the two women, barring their way, and proceeded to address Natalie in a vehement, gesticulating fashion, with much clinching of his fists and throwing out of his arms. Anneli had shrunk back a step, for the man was uncouth and unkempt; but her young mistress stood erect and firm, confronting the beggar, or madman, or who- ever he was, without the slightest sign of fear. This was enough for George Brand. lie Avas not thrustin-T^ himself unfairly on her seclusion if he interposed to protect her from menace. Instantly he crossed the road. " Who are you ? What do you want?" This was what he said ; but what he did was to drive the man back a couple of yards. A hand was laid on his arm quickly. "He is in trouble," Natalie said, calmly. "He wants to see papa ; he has come a long way ; he does not understand that papa is in America. If you could only convince him — But you do not talk Russian." " I can talk Eno-Hsh," said Brand, reijardino: the maniac-look- ing person before him with angry brows. " Will you go in- doors. Miss Lind, and leave him to me. I will talk an English to him that he will understand." " Is that the way you answer an appeal for help V said she. A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 103 with gentle reproof. " The man is in trouble. If I persuade hhn tu go witii you, will you take hiui to papa's cluunbers ? Either Deratinsky or lleinrich Ueitzei will be there." " Reitzei is there." "He will hear what this man has to say. Will you be so kind ?" "I will do anything to rid you of this fellow, who looks more like a madman than a beggar." She stepped forward and spoke to the man again — her voice sounded gentle and persuasive to Brand, in this tongue which ho could not understand. When she had finished, the uncouth per- son in the tattered garments dropped on both knees on the pave- ment, and took her hand in his, and kissed it in passionate grati- tude. Then he rose, and stood with his cap in his hand. " He will go with you. I am so sorry to trouble you, Mr. Brand ; and I have not even said, ' How do you do V " To hear this beautiful voice after so long a silence — to find those calm, dark, friendly eyes regarding him — bewildered him, or gave him courage, he knew not which. He said to her, with a quick flush on his forehead, " May I come back to tell you how I succeed ?" She only hesitated for a second. " If you have time. If you care to take the trouble." He carried away with him the look of her face — that filled his heart with sunlight. In the hansom, into which he bundled his unkempt companion, if only he had known enough Russian, he would have expressed gratitude to him. Beggar or maniac, or whatever he was, had he not been the means of procuring for George Brand that long-coveted, long-dreamed-of smile of wel- come? CHAPTER XIV. A RUSSIAN EPISODE, " Is that the way you answer an appeal for help ?" With that gentle protest still lingering in his ear, he was not inclined to be hard on this unfortunate wretch who was in the cab with him ; and yet at the same time he was resolved to prevent any repeti- tion of the scene he had just witnessed. And at last he discov- 104 SUNRISE. ered that tlie man had picked np in liis wanderings a little Ger- man. His own German was not first-rate ; it was fluent, forcible, and accurate enough, so far as hotels and railway-stations were concerned ; elscwliere it had a tendency to halt, blunder, and double back on itself. But, at all events, he managed to convey to his companion the distinct intimation that any further trou- blino- of that young lady would only procure for hira a broken head. The dull, stupid, savage - looking face betrayed no sign of in- telligence, lie repeated the warning again and again ; and at last, at the phrase " that young lady," the dazed small eyes lit up somewhat, and the man clasped his hands. " Ein Engel !" he said, apparently to himself. " Ein Engel — ein Engel ! Ach Gott — wie schon — wie gemiithlich !" " Yes, yes, yes," Brand said, " that is all very well ; but one is not permitted to annoy angels — to trouble them in the street. Do you understand that that means punishment — one must be punished — if one returns to the house of that young lady ? Do vou understand ?" The man regarded him with the small, deep-set eyes again sunk into apathy. " Ihr Diener, Herr," said he, submissively. " You understand you are not to go back to the house of the young lady ?" " Ihr Diener, Herr." There was nothing to be got out of him, or into him ; so Brand waited until he should get the help of Heinrich Reitzei, Lind's locum tenens. Reitzei was in the chambers — at Lind's table, in fact. Pie was a man of about twenty-eight or thirty, slim and dark, with a per- fectly pallid face, a small black mustache carefully waxed, and an affectedly courteous smile. He wore a pince-nez ; was fond of slang, to show his familiarity with English; and aimed at an English manner, too. lie seemed bored. He regarded this man whom Brand introduced to him without surprise, with indiffer- ence. " Hear what this fellow has to say," Brand said, " will you ? and give him distinctly to understand that if he tries again to see Miss Lind, I will break his head for him. What idiot could have given him Lind's private address?" A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 105 The man was standing near the door, stolid apparently, but with his small eyes keenly watching. Reitzei said a word or two to him. Instantly he went — he ahnost sprung — forward; and this movement was so unexpected that the equanimity of the pal- lid young man received a visible shock, and he hastily drew out a drawer a few inches. Brand caught sight of the handle of a revolver. But the man was only eager to tell his story, and presently Reitzei had resumed his air of indifference. As he proceeded to translate for Brand's benefit, in interjectional phrases, what this man with the trembling hands and the burning eyes was saying, it was stranofe to mark the contrast between the two men. "His name Kirski," the younger man was saying, as he eyed, with a cool and critical air, the wild look in the other's face, "A carver in wood, but cannot work now, for his hands tremble, through hunger and fatigue — through drink, I should say — na- tive of small village in Kiev — had his share of tbe Communal land — but got permission from the Commune to spend part of the year in Kiev itself — sent back all his taxes duly, and money too, because — oh, this is it? — daughter of village Elder — young, beautiful, of course — left an orphan, with three brothers — and their share of the land too much for them. Ah, this is the story, then, my friend ? Married, too — young, beautiful, good — yes, yes, Ave know all that — " There were tears running dcnvn the face of the other man. But these he shook away ; and a wilder light than ever came into his eyes. " He goes to Kiev as usual, foolish fellow ; now I see what all the row is about. When he returns, three months after, he goes to his house. Empty. The neighbors will not speak. At last one says something about Pavel Michaieloff, the great proprietor, whose house and farm arc some versts away — my good fellow, you have got the palsy, or is it drink? — he goes and seeks out the house of Pavel — yes, yes, the story is not new — Pavel is at the open window, smoking — he goes up to the window — there is a woman inside — when she sees him she utters a loud scream, and rushes for protection to the man Michaieloff — then all the fat is in the fire naturally — " The Russian choked and gasped ; drops of perspiration stood on his forehead ; he looked wildly around. 5* 106 SUNRISE. " Water ?" said Reitzei. " Poor devil, you need some water to cool down your excitement. You are making as much fuss as if that kind of thing had never happened in the world before." But he rose and got him some water, which the man drained eagerly ; then he continued his story with the same fierce and angry vehemence. " Well, yes, he had something to complain of, certainly," Reit- zei said, translating all that incoherent passion into cool little phrases. " Not a fair fight. Pavel summons his men from the court-yard — men with whips — dogs, too — he is lashed and driven along the roads, and the dogs tear at him ! Oh yes, m}^ good friend, you have been badly used ; but you have come a long way to tell your story. I must ask him how the mischief he got here at all." But here Reitzei paused and stared. Something the man said — in an eager, low voice, with his sunken small eyes all afire — startled him out of his critical air. " Oh, that is it, is it?" he said, eying him. " He will do any- thing for us — he will commit a murder — ten murders — if only we give him money, a knife, and help to kill the man Michaielotf. Well, he is a lively sort of person to let loose on society." " The man is clearly mad," Brand said. " The man was madder who sent him to us," Reitzei answered. "I should not like to be in his shoes if Lind hears that this ma- niac was allowed to see his daughter." The wretched creature standing there glanced eagerly from one to the other, with the eyes of a wild animal, seeking to gather something from their looks ; then he went forward to the table, and stooped down and spoke to Reitzei still further, in the same low, fierce voice, his whole frame meanwhile shaking with his ex- citement. Reitzei said something to him in reply, and motioned him back. He retired a step or two, and then kept watching the faces of the two men. " What are you going to do with him ?" Brand said. Reitzei shrugged his shoulders. "I know what I should like to do with him if I dared," he said, with a graceful smile. " There is a friend of mine ^lot a hundred miles away from tliJit very Kiev who wants a little admonition. Her name is Petrovna ; she is the jail - matron of a female penitentiary ; she is just a little too fierce at times. A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 107 Murderers, thieves, prostitutes : oh yes, she can be civil cnouf,^h to tlieiii ; but let a political prisoner come near her — one of her own sex, mind — and she becomes a devil, a tigress, a vampire. Ah, Madame Petrovna and I may have a little reckoning some day. I have asked Lind again and again to petition for a de- cree against her; but no, he will not move; he is becoming An- glicized, effeminate." " A decree ?'' Brand said. The other smiled, with an affectation of calm superiority. "You will learn by -and -by. Meanwhile, if I dared, what I should like to do would be to give our friend here [)lenty of money, and not one but two knives, saying to him, ' My good friend, here is one knife for Miehaieloff, if you like ; but first of all here is this knife for that angel in disguise, Madame Petrov- na, of the Female Penitentiary in Novolevsk. Strike sure and lianl r " For one instant his affectation forsook him, and there was a gleam in his eyes. This was but a momentary relapse from his professed indifference. " Well, Mr. Brand, I suppose I must take over this madman from vou. You may tell Miss Lind she need not be frightened." " I should not think Miss Lind was in the habit of being fright- ened," said Brand, coldly. " Ah, no ; doubtless not. Well, I shall see that this fellow does not trouble her again. What fine tidings we had of your work in the North ! You have been a power ; you have moved mountains." "1 have moved John Molyncux," said P>rand, with a laugh; " and in these days that is a more difficult business." " Fine news from Spain, too," said Reitzei, glancing at some letters. "From Valladol id, Barcelona, Ferrol, Saragossa — all the same story : coalition, coalition. Salmero will be in London next week." " But you have not told me what you are going to do with this man yet ; you must stow the combustible piece of goods somewhere. Poor devil, his sufferings have made a pitiable ob- ject of him." " My dear friend," said Reitzei, " you don't suppose that a Russian peasant would feel so deeply a beating with whips, or the worrvinsi of dofjs, or even the loss of his wife ? Of course, 108 SUNRISE. coming all together, it was something of a hard grind. He must liave been constitutionally insane, and that woke the whole thing up." "Then he should bo confined. lie is a lunatic at large." " I don't think he would harm anybody," Keitzei said, regard- ing the man as if he were a strange animal. "I would not shut up a dog in a lunatic asylum ; I would rather put a bullet through his head. And this fellow — if we could humbug him a little, and get him to his work again — I know a man in Wardour Street who would do that for me — and see what effect the amassing of a little English money might have on him. Better a miser than a wild beast. And he seems a submissive sort of creature. Leave him to me, Mr. Brand." Brand began to think a little better of Reitzei, whom hitherto he had rather disliked. He handed him five pounds, to get some clothes and tools for the man, who, when he was told of this gen- erosity, turned to Brand and said something to him in Russian which set Reitzei laughing. " What is it he says ?" " He said, ' Little Father, you are worthy to become the hus- band of the angel : may the day come soon !' I suppose the angel is Miss Lind ; she must have been very kind to the man." "She only spoke to him; but lier voice can be kind," said Brand, rather absently, and then he left. Away went the hansom back to Curzon Street. He said to himself that it was not for nothing that this unfortunate wretch Kirski had wandered all the way from the Dnieper to the Thames. He would look after this man. He would do something for hira. Five pounds only ? And he had been the means of securing this interview, if only for three or four minutes; after the long period of labor and hope and waiting he might have gone without a word at all but for this over-troubled poor devil. And now — now he might even see her alone for a couple of minutes in the hushed little drawing-room ; and she might say if she had heard about what had been done in the North, and about his eagerness to return to the work. One look of thanks ; that was enough. Sometimes, by himself up there in the solita- ry inns, the old fit had come over hira ; and he had laughed at himself, and wondered at this new fire of occupation and interest that was blazing through his life, and asked himself, as of old, to A RUSSIAN EPISODE. 109 what end — to what end? But when lie heard Natalie Lind's voice, there was a quick good-bye to all questioning. One look at the calm, earnest eyes, and he drank deep of faith, courage, devotion. And surely this story of the man Kirski — what he could tell her of it — would he sufficient to fill up five minutes, eight minutes, ten minutes, while all the time he should be able to dwell on her eyes, whether they were downcast, or turned to his with their frank, soft glance. He sliould be in the perfume of the small drawino'-room. lie would see the Roman necklace Mazzini had given her gleam on her bosom as she breathed. lie did not know what Natalie Lind had been about duiins: his absence. " Anncli, Anneli — hither, child !" she called in German. " Run up to Madame Potecki, and ask her to come and spend the after- noon with me. She must come at once, to lunch with me ; I will wait." " Yes, Fraulein. AVhat music, Friiulcin ?" " None ; never mind any music. But she must come at once." "Scbon, Fraulein," said the little Anneli, about to depart. Her young mistress called her back, and paused, with a little hesitation. " You may tell Elizabeth," said she, with an indifferent air, " that jt is possible — it is quite possible — it is at least possible — I may have two friends to lunch with me ; and she must send at once if she wants anything more. And you could bring me back some fresh flowers, Anneli?" " Why not, Fraulein ?" " Go quick, then, Anncli — fly like a young roe — durch Wald und auf der Haide /" And so it came about that when George Brand was ushered into the scented little drawing-room — so anxious to make the most of the invaluable minutes — he found himself introduced first of all to Madame Potecki, a voluble, energetic little Polish gentlewoman, whose husband had been killed in the Warsaw disturbances of '61, and who now supported herself in London by teaching music. She was eager to know all about the man Kirski, and hoped that he was not wholly a maniac, and trusted that Mr. Brand would sec that her dear child — her adopted da\igh- ter, she might say — was not terrified again by the madman. " My dear madame," said Brand, " you must not imagine that 110 SUNRISE. it was from terror that Miss Lind handed over the man to me — it was from kindness. That is more natural to her than terror." " Ah, I know tlie dear child has the courage of an army," said the Uttle old lady, tapping her adopted daughter on the shoulder with the fan. " But she must take care of herself while her papa is away in America." Natalie rose ; and of course Brand rose also, with a sudden qualm of disappointment, for he took that as the signal of his dismissal ; and he had scarcely spoken a word to her. " Mr. Brand," said she, with some little trifle of embarrassment, " I know I must have deprived you of your luncheon. It was V'O kind of you to go at once with the poor man. Would it save you time — if you are not going anywhere — I thought perhaps vou mio-ht come and have something with madarae and mvself. Yon must be dying of hunger." He did not refuse the invitation. And behold I when he went down-stairs, the table was already laid for three ; had he been ex- pected, he asked himself ? Those flowers there, too : he knew it was no maid-servant's fingers that had arranged and distributed them so skilfully. How he blessed this little Polish lady, and her volubility, and her extravagant, subtle, honest flattery of her dear adopted daughter! It gave him liberty to steep liimself in the rioli con- sciousness of Natalie's presence ; he could listen in silence for the sound of her voice — he could covertly watch the beauty of her shapely hands — without being considered preoccupied or morose. All he had to do was to say, " Yes, madame," or " Indeed, ma- dame," the while he knew that Natalie Lind was breathing the same air with him — that at any moment the large, lustrous dark eyes might look up and meet his. And she spoke little, too; and had scarcely her usual frank self-confidence: perhaps a chance reference of Madame Potecki to the fact that her adopt- ed daughter had been brought up without a mother had some- what saddened her. The room was shaded in a measure, for the French silk blinds were down ; but there was a soft golden glow prevailing all the same. For many a day George Brand remembered that little luncheon-party; the dull, bronze glow of the room; the flowers; the soft, downcast eyes opposite him ; the bright, pleasant gar- rulity of the little Polish lady; and always — ah, the delight of NEW FRIENDS. Ill it! — that strange, trcmblinp:, sweet consciousness that Natalie Lind was listening as liu listened — that almost he could have heard the beating of her heart. And a hundred and a hundred times he swore that, whoever throughout the laboring and suffering world might regret that day, the man Kirski should not. CHAPTER XV. NEW FRIENDS. It was a Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park, in this pleasantly opening summer; and there was a fair show of "the quality" come out for their accustomed promenade, despite the few thun- der-showers that had swept across from the South. These, in fact, had but served to lay the dust, and to bring out the scent of the hawthorns and lilacs, so that the air was sweet with perfume ; while the massive clouds, banking up in the North, formed a pur- ple background to show up the young green foliage of the trees, all wet with rain, and shimmering tremulously in the sunlight. George Brand and his friend Evelyn sat in the back row of chairs, watching the people pass and repass. It Avas a sombre procession, but that here and there appeared a young English girl in her pale spring costume — paler than the fresh glow of youth and health on her face, and that here and there the sun- light, wandering down through the branches, touched a scarlet sunshade — just then coming into fashion — until that shone like a beautiful spacious flower among the mass of green. When they had been silently watching the people for some little time, Brand said, almost to himself, " How very unlike those women she is !" " Who ? Oh, Natalie Lind," said the other, who had been speaking of her some minutes before. " Well, that is natural; and I don't say it to their disadvantage. I believe most girls are well-intentioned enough ; but, of course, they grow up in a par- ticular social atmosphere, and it depends on that what they be- come. If it is rather fast, the girl sees nothing objectionable in being fast too. If it is religious, the god of her idolatry is a bishop. If it is sporting, she thinks mostly about horses, Na- 112 SUNRISE. talie is exceptional, because she lias been brougbt up in excep- tional circumstances. For one thing, she has been a good deal alone ; and she has formed all sorts of beautiful idealisms and aspirations — " The conversation dropped here ; for at the moment Lord Eve- lyn espied two of his sisters coming along in the slow procession. " Here come two of the girls," he said to his friend. " How precious demure they look !" Brand at once rose, and went out from the shadow of the trees, to pay his respects to the two young ladies. "How do you do, Miss D'Agincourt? How do you do, Miss Frances ?" Certainly no one would have suspected these two very graceful and jileasant- looking girls of being madcap creatures at home. The elder was a tall and slightly-built blonde, with large gray eyes set wide apart ; the younger a gentle little thing, with brown- ish eyes, freckles, and a pretty mouth. "Mamma?" said the eldest daughter, in answer to his inquiries. " Oh, she is behind, bringing up the rear, as it were. We have to go in detachments, or else the police would come and read the riot act against us. Francie and I are the vanguard ; and she feels such a good little girl, marching along two and two, just as if she were back at Brighton." The clear gray eyes — quite demure — glanced in toward the shadows of the trees. " I see you have got Evelyn there, Mr. Brand. Who is the ex- traordinary person he is always talking about now — the Maid of Saragossa, or Joan of Arc, or something like that ? Do you know her ?" " I suppose you mean Miss Lind." " I know he has persuaded mamma to go and call on her, and get her to dine with us, if she will come. Now, I call that kind." " If she accepts, you mean ?" " No, I mean nothing of the sort. Good-bye. If we stay an- other minute, we shall have the middle detachments overlapping the vanguard. En avant, Francie ! Vorwarts !" She bowed to him, and passed on in her grave and stately man- ner : more calmly observant, demurer eyes were not in the Park. He ran the gauntlet of the whole family, and at last encoun- NEW FRIENDS. 113 tcred tlie mamraa, wlio brouglit up the rear witli tlic youngest of her (huiuhters. Lady Evelyn was a tall, somewhat good-looking, elderly lady, who wore her silver- white hair in old-fashioned curls. She was an amiable but strictly matter-of-fact person, who beheld her daughters' mad humors with surprise as well as alarm. What were they forever laughing at? Besides, it was indecorous. She had not conducted herself in tliat manner when she lived in her father's home. Lady Evelyn, who was vaguely aware that Brand knew the Linds, repeated her daughter's information about the proposed visit, and said that if Miss Lind would come and spend the even- ing with them, she hoped Mr. Brand would come too. "These girls do tease dreadfully, I know," said their mamma; " but perliaps they will behave a little better before a stranger." Mr. Brand replied that he hoped Miss Lind would accept the invitation — for during her father's absence she must be somewhat tlnll — but that even without the protection of her presence he was not afraid to face those formidable young ladies. "Where- upon Miss Geraldine — wlio was generally called the baby, though she was turned thirteen — glanced at him with a look which said, " Won't you catch it for that !" and the mamma then bade him ofood-bve, savino: that Rosalvs would write to him as soon as the evening was arranged. He had not long to wait for that expected note. The very next night lie received it. Miss Lind was coming on Thursday ; would that suit him ? A quarter to eight. He was there punctual to the moment. The presence of the whole rabble of girls in the drawing-room told him that this was to be a quite private and domestic dinner-party ; on other occa- sions only two or three of the phalanx — as Miss D'Agincourt de- scribed herself and her sisters — were chosen to appear. And, on this especial occasion, there was a fine hubbub of questions and raillery o-oing on — which Brand vainly endeavored to meet all at once — when he was suddenly rescued. The door was opened, and Miss Lind was announced. The clamor ceased. She was dressed in black, with a red camellia in her bosom, and another in the magnificent ]>la(d<: liair. Brand thought he liad never seen her looli so beautiful, and at once so graciously proud and gentle. Lady Evelyn went forward to meet her, and greeted her very kindly indeed. She was introduced to one or 114 SUNRISE. two of the girls. She shook liaiids with Mr. Brand, and gave him a pleasant smile of greeting. Lady Evelyn had to apologize for her son's absence ; he had only gone to write a note. The tall, beautiful Hungarian girl seemed not in the least em- barrassed by all these curious eyes, that occasionally and covertly regarded her while pretending not to do so. Two of the young ladies tlicre were older than she was, vet she seemed more of a woman than any of them. Her self-possession was perfect. She sat down by Lady Evelyn, and submitted to be questioned. The girls afterward told their brother they believed she was an actress, because of the clever manner in which she managed her train. But at this moment Lord Evelyn made his appearance in great excitement, and with profuse apologies. " But the fact is," said he, producing an evening paper, " the fact is — just listen to this, Natalie : it is the report of a police case." At his thus addressing her by her Christian name the mother started somewhat, and the demure eyes of the girls were turned to the floor, lest they should meet any conscious glance. "Here is a fellow brought before the Hammersmith magis- trate for indulging in a new form of amusement. Oh, very pretty ! very nice ! He had only got hold of a small dog, and he was taking it bv the two forelegs, and trving how far he could heave it. Very well ; he is brought before the magistrates. He had onlv heaved the dog two or three times: nothino- at all, you know. You think he will get off with a forty shillings fine, or something like that. Not altogether! Two months' hard labor — two solid months^ hard labor ; and if I had my will of the brute," he continued, savagely, " I would give ten years' hard labor, and bury him alive when he came out. However, two months' hard labor is something. I glory in that magistrate ; I have just been up-stairs writing a note asking him to dine with me. I believe I was introduced to him once." " Evelyn quite goes beside himself," his mother said to her guest, with half an air of apology, " when he reads about cruelty like that." " Surely it is better than being callous," said Natalie, speaking very gently. They went in to dinner ; and the young ladies were very well behaved indeed. They did not at all resent the fashion in NEW FRIENDS. 115 whicli tlic wliole attention of the dinner-table was given to tlic strnngor. "And so vou like liviuij- in England T' said Ladv Evelyn to lier. "I cannot breathe elsewhere," was the simple answer. "Why," said the matter-of-fact, silver-haired lady, "if this conntry is notorious for anything, it is for its foguy atmosphere !" " I think it is famous for something more than that," said the girl, with just a touch of color in the beautiful face; for she was not accustomed to speak before so many people. " Is it not more famous for its freedom ? It is that that makes the air so sweet to breathe." "Well, at all events, you don't liud it very picturesque as com- pared with other countries. Evelyn tells me you have travelled a great deal." " Perhaps I am not very fond of pictnresqneness," Natalie said, modestly. " When I am travelling through a country 1 would rather see plenty of small farms, thriving and prosperous, than splendid ruius that tell only of ojipression and extravagance, and the fierceness of war. No one spoke ; so she made bold to continue — but she ad- dressed Lady Evelyn only, " No doubt it is very picturesque, as yon go up the Rhine, or across the See Kreis, or through the Lombard plains, to see every height crowned with its castle. Yes, one cannot help admiring. They are like beautiful flowers that have blossomed up from the valleys and the plains below. But who tilled the land, that these should grow there on every height? Are you not forced to thi?ik of the toiling wretches who labored and labored to carry stone by stone up to the crest of the hill ? They did not get much enjoyment out of the grandeur and jncturesqueness of the castles." " But they gave that labor for their own protection," Lady Evelyn said, with a smile. "The great lords and barons were their protectors." " The great lords and barons said so, at least," said the girl, without any smile at all, " and I suppose the peasantry believed them ; and were quite willing to leave their vinevards and go and shed their blood whenever the great lords and barons quar- relled amono" themselves." 110 SUNRISE, " "Well said ! well said !" Brand exclaimed, quickly ; though, indeed, this calm, gentle-eyed, self-possessed girl Avas in no need of any champion. " I am afraid you are a great Radical, Miss Lind," said Lady Evelyn, " Perhaps it is your English air, Lady Evelyn," said the girl, with a smile. Lord Evelyn's mother, notwithstanding her impassive, unim- aginative nature, soon began to betray a decided interest in this new guest, and even sometliing more. She was attracted, to be- gin with, by the singular beauty of the young Hungarian lady, wdiich was foreign-looking, unusual, picturesque. She was struck by her perfect self-possession, and by the ease and grace of her manner, which was rather that of a mature woman tlian of a girl of nineteen. But most of all she was interested in her odd talk and opinions, which she expressed with such absolute simplicity and frankness. Was it, Lady Evelyn asked herself, that the girl liad been brought up so much in the society of men — that she had neither mother nor sisters — that she spoke of politics and such matters as if it was the most natural thing in the world for women, of whatever age, tu consider them as of first impor- tance? But one chance remark that Natalie made, on the impulse of the moment, did for the briefest possible time break down that charming self-confidence of hers, and show her — to the wonder- ment of the English girls — the prey of an alarmed embarrass- ment. George Brand had been talking of patriotism, and of the scorn that must naturally be felt for the man who would say of his countr}-, " Well, it will last my time. Let me enjoy myself when I can. What do I care about the future of other people?" And then he went on to talk of the larger patriotism that con- cerned itself not merely with one's fellow-countrymen but with one's fellow-mortals ; and how the stimulus and enthusiasm of that wider patriotism should be proportionately stronger; and how it might seek to break down artificial barriers of political systems and religious creeds. Patriotism was a beautiful flame — a star; but here was a sun. Oi'dinarily, to tell tlie truth, Brand was but an indifferent speaker — he had all an Englishman's self- consciousness ; but now he spoke for Natalie alone, and minded the others but little. Presently Lady Evelyn said, with a smile. NEW FKIENDS. 1 1 7 "You, too, Miss Lind, are a reformer, are yon not? Evelyn is very mysterious, and I can't quite make out what lie means; but at all events it is very kind of you to spare us an evening when you must be so deeply eno-agcd." "I?" said Natalie. "Oh no, it is very little that I can do. The work is too difficult and arduous for women, perhaps. But there is one thinut Evelyn has told us so much about your singing — " "Oh, I will sing for you if you wish it," said Natalie, without hesitation. 118 SUNRISE. Some little time thereafter Brand was walking up and down tlic room below, slowly and thoughtfully : he was not much of a wiuc-driuker. " Evelyn," he said, suddenly, " I shall soon be able to tell you whether I owe you a life-long gratitude. I owe you much al- ready. Through you I have got some work to do iu the world; I am busy, and content. But there is a greater prize." " I think I can guess what you mean," his companion said, calmly. "You do?" said the other, with a quick look. "And you do not think I am mad? — to go and ask her to be my wife before she has given me a single word of hope ?" " She has spoken to others about you : I know what she thinks of you," said Lord Evelyn. Then the fine, pale face was slight- ly flushed. " To tell you the truth, Brand, I thought of this be- fore you ever saw her." "Thought of what?" said the other, with a stare of surprise. "That you would be the right sort of man to make a husband for her: she might be left alone in the world at any moment, without a single relation, and scarcely a friend." " Women don't marry for these reasons," said the other, some- what absently. " And yet, if she were to think of it, it would not be as if I were withdrawing her from everything she takes an interest in. We should be together. I am eager to go for- ward, even by myself; but with her for a companion — think of that !" "I have thought of it," said Lord Evelyn, with something of a sad smile. " Often. And there is no man in England more heartily wishes you success than I do. Come, let us go up to the drawing-room." They went out into the hall. Some one was playing a noisy piece up-stairs ; it was safe to speak. And then he said, "Sliall I tell you something, Brand ? — something that will keep you awake all this night, and not with the saddest of think- ing ? If I am not mistaken, I fancy you have already ' stole bon- ny Glenlyon away.' " A LETTEU. 119 CHArXER X\\. A LETTER. Black night lay over the city, and silence ; the river flowed unseen through tlie darkness ; but a thousand golden points of fire mapped out the lines of the Euibankinent and the long curves of the distant bridges. The infrequent sounds that could be heard were strangely distinct, even when they were faint and re- mote. There was a sliii'ht rustling of wind in the trees below the window. But the night and the silence brought him neither repose nor counsel. A multitude of bewildering, audacious hopes and dis- tracting fears strove for mastery in his mind, upsetting altogether the calm and cool judgment on which he prided himself. His was not a nature to harbor illusions ; he had a hard way of look- ing at things; and yet — and yet — might not this chance speech of Lord Evelyn have been something more than a bit of good- humored raillery? Lord Evelyn was Natalie's intimate friend; he knew all her surroundings; he was a quick observer; he was likely to know if this thing were possible. But, on the other hand, how was it possible that so beautiful a creature, in the per- fect flower of her youth, should be without a lover? He forced himself to remember that she and her father seemed to see no society at all. Perhaps she was too useful to him, and he would not have her entangle herself with many friends. Perhaps they had led too- nomadic a life. But even in hotels abroad, how could she have avoided the admiration she was sure to evoke ? And in Florence, mayhap, or Mentone, or Madrid ; and here he began to conjure up a host of possible rivals, all foreigners, of course, and all equally detestable, and to draw pictures for him of tables dliote, with always the one beautiful figure there, uncon- scious, gentle, silent, but drawing to her all men's eyes. There was but the one way of putting an end to this madden- ing uncertainty. He dared not claim an interview with her ; she might be afraid of implying too much by granting it; various 120 SUNRISE. considerations might dictate a refusal. But he could write ; and, in point of fact, writing-materials were on the table. Again and again he had sat down and taken the pen in his hand, only to get np as often and go and stare out into the yellow glare of the night. For an instant his sliadow would fall on the foliage of the trees below, and then pass away again like a ghost. At two-and-twcnty love is reckless, and glib of speech ; it takes little heed of the future ; the light straw-flame, for however short a period, leaps up merrily enough. But at two-and-thirty it is more alive to consequences ; it is not the present moment, but the duration of life, that it regards ; it seeks to proceed with a sure foot. And at this crisis, in the midst of all this irresolution, that was unspeakably vexatious to a man of his firm nature. Brand demanded of himself his utmost power of self-control. He would not imperil the happiness of his life by a hasty, importunate ap- peal. AVhen at length he sat down, determined not to rise until he had sent her this message, he forced himself to write — at the beginning, at least — -in a roundabout and indifferent fashion, so that she should not be alarmed. He began by excusing his writ- ing to her, saying he had scarcely ever liad a chance of talking to her, and that he wished to tell her something of what had hap- pened to him since the memorable evening on which he had first met her at her father's house. And he went on to speak to her of a friend of his, who used to amuse himself with the notion that he would like to enter himself at a public school and go through his school life all over again. There he had spent the happiest of his days ; why should he not repeat them ? If only the boys would agree to treat him as one of themselves, why should he not bo hail-fellow-well-met with them, and once more enjoy the fun of uproarious pillow-battles, and have smuggled tarts and lemonade at night, and tame rabbits where no rab- bits should be, and a profound hero-worship for the captain of the school Eleven, and excursions out of bounds, when his ex- cess of pocket-money would enable him to stand treat all round? "Why not?" this friend of his used to say. "Was it so very impossible for one to get back the cares and interests, the ambi- tions, the amusements, the high spirits of one's boyhood ?" And if he now were to tell her that a far greater miracle had happen- ed to himself ? Tliat at an age when he had fancied he had done and seen most things worth doing and seeing ; when the past A LETTEIl. 121 seemed to contain cveiytliing worth having, ami there was notli- iny left but to try how the tedious hours could be got over; when a listless ennui was eating his very heart out — tliat he should be presented, as it were, with a new lease od-looking young English fellow, with a gravity equal to that of the sham showman, explained to his audience that he was composing an operetta, of which he would give them a few passages. He was a skilful pianist, lie explained, as his fingers ran up and down the keys, that the scene was in Ratcliffe High- way. A tavern : a hornpipe. Jack ashore. Unseemly squabbles : here there were harsh discords and shrill screams. Drunkenness : the music getting very helpless. Then the daylight comes — the chirping of sparrows — Jack wanders out — the breath of the morning stirs his memories — he thinks of other days. Then comes in Jack's song, which neither Calabressa nor any one else present could say was meant to be comic, or pathetic, or a de- moniac mixture of both. The accompaniment which the hand- some young English fellow played was at once rhythmical, and low and sad, like the wash of waves: 148 SUNRISE. " Oil, the days were long, And the summers were long, When Jane and I went courtin' ; The hills were blue beyond the sky ; The heather was soft where we did lie ; We kissed our fill, did Jane and I, When Jane and I went courtin'. " When Jane and I went courtin'. Oh, the days were long, And the summers were long ! We walked by night beyond the quay ; Above, the stars ; below, the sea ; And I kissed Jane, and Jane kissed me. When Jane and I went courtin'. ■' But Jane she married the sodger-chap ; An end to me and my courtin'. And I took ship, and here I am ; And where I go, I care not a damn — Rio, Jamaica, Seringapatam — Good-bye to Jane and the courtin'." This second professor of gravity was abundantly cheered too when he rose from the piano ; for the music was quaint and origi- nal, with a sort of unholy, grotesque pathos running through it. Calabressa resumed : " ■'^^y gt)od Beratinsky, what is it that you have heard?" " No matter. Natalie Lind has no need of your good offices, Calabressa. She can make friends for herself, and quickly enough, too." Calabressa's eyes were not keen, but his ears were ; he detect- ed easily the personal rancor in the man's tone. "You are speaking of some one: the Englishman?" Beratinsky burst out laughing. " Listen, Reitzei ! Even my good friend Calabressa perceives. He, too, has encountered the Englishman. Oh yes, we must all give way to him, else he will stamp on our toes with his thick English boots. You, Reitzei : how long is he to allow you to re- tain your office ?" " Better for him if he does not interfere with me," said the younger man. "I was always against the English being allowed to become officers. They are too arrogant ; they want every- thing under their direction. Take their money, but keep them outside : that would have been my rule." FIDELIO. 140 "And this EnoTishman," said Bcratinsky, with a smile, thougli there was the light of malice in his eye, "this Englishman is not content with wanting to have the mastery of poor devils like you and me ; he also wishes to marry the beautiful Natalie — the beautiful Natalie, who has hitherto been as proud as the Princess liriinhilda. Now, now, friend Calabrcssa, do not protest. Ev- ery one has ears, has eyes. And when papa Lind comes home — when he finds that this Englishman has been making a fool of him, and professing great zeal when he was only trying to steal away the daughter — what then, friend Calabressa?" "A girl must marry," said Calabressa. " I tliought she was too proud to think of such things," said the other, scornfully. " However, I entreat you to say no more. What concern have I with Natalie Lind ? I tell you, let her make more new friends." Calabressa sat silent, his heart as heavy as lead. He had come with some notion that he Avould secure one other — powerful, and in all of Lind's secrets — on whom Natalie could rely, should any emergency occur in whicli she needed help. But these jealous and envious taunts, these malignant prophecies, only too clearly showed him in what relation Vincent Beratinsky stood with re- gard to the daughter of Natalie Bcrezolyi and the Englishman, her lover. Calabressa sat silent. When some one began to play the zither, he was thinking not of the Culturverein in London, but of the dark pine-woods above the Erlau, and of the house there, and of Natalie Berczolyi as she played in the evening. lie would ask Natalushka if she, too, played the zither. CHAPTER XX. FIDELIO. George Brand walked atVay from the house in Curzon Street in a sort of bewilderment of hope and happiness and gratitude. He would even try to accept Calabressa's well-meant counsel : why should he not be friends with everybody ? The world had grown very beautiful ; there was to be no more quarrelling in it, or envy, or malice. 150 SUNRISE. In the dark he almost ran against a rao-jred little child who was selling flowers. " Will you buy a rose-bud, sir ?" said she. " AVhat ?" he said, severely, " selling flowers at this time of night? Get away hoine with you and get your supper, and go to bed ;" but he spoiled the effect of his sharp admonition by giving the girl all the silver he had in his pocket. He found the little dinner-party in a most loquacious mood. O'Halloran in especial was in full swing. The internal economy of England was to be readjusted. The capital must be trans- ferred to the centre of the real wealth and brain-power of the country — that is to say, somewhere about Leeds or Manchester. This proposition greatly pleased Humphreys, the man from the North, who was quite willing to let the Royal Academy, the South Kensington and National Galleries, and the British Museum remain in London, so long as the seat of government was trans- ferred to Huddersfield or thereabouts. But O'Halloran drew such a harrowing picture of the effect produced on the South of England intellect by its notorious and intense devotion to the arts, that Humphreys was almost convicted of cruelty. However, if these gi'aceless people thought to humbug the hard-headed man from the North, he succeeded on one occasion in completely silencing his chief enemy, O'Halloran. That lover of paradox and idle speculation was tracing the decline of super- stition to the introduction of the nse of steam, and was showing- how, wherever railways went in India, ghosts disappeared ; where- upon the Darlington man calmly retorted that, as far as he could see, the railways in this country were engaged in making as many ghosts as they could possibly disperse in India. Tins flank at- tack completely surprised and silenced the light skirmisher, who sought safety in lighting another cigar. More serious matters, however, were also talked about, and Humphreys was eager that Brand should go down to Wolver- hampton with him next morning. Brand pleaded but for one day's delay. Humphreys reminded him that certain members of the Political Committee of the Trades-union Congress would be at Wolverhampton, and that he had promised to see them. Af- ter that, silence. At last, as Humphreys and O'Halloran were leaving, Brand said, with an effort, FIDEHO. 151 " No, it is no use, Humphreys. I rmist remain in London one more duy. Yon go down to-morrow ; I shall come by the first train next morning. Molyneux and the others won't be leaving for some days." " Very well, sir ; good-night, sir." Brand returned into tlie room, and tlirew liimself into an easy- chair; his only companion now was his old friend Evelyn. The younger man regarded him. " I can tell the whole story, Brand ; I have been reading it in your face. You were troubled and perplexed before you got that letter. It gave you some hope. Off you went to see Nata- lie ; you came back with something in your manner that told me you had seen her and had been received favorably. Now it is only one more day of happiness you hunger for, before going up to the hard work of the North. Well, I don't wonder. But, at the same time, you look a little too restless and anxious for a man who has just won such a beautiful sweetheart." "I am not so lucky as that, Evelyn," said he, absently. " What, you did not see her?" " Oh yes, I saw her ; and I hope. But of course one craves for some full assurance when such a prize is within reach ; and — and I suppose one's nerves are a little excited, so that you im- agine possibilities and dangers — " He rose, and took a turn up and down the room. " It is the old story, Evelyn. I distrust Lind." " What has that to do with it ?" " As you say, what has that to do with it ? If I had Natalie's full promise, I should care for nothing. She is a woman; she is not a school-girl, to be frightened. If I had only that, I should start off for the North with a light heart." " Why not secure it, then ?" " Perhaps it is scarcely fair to force myself on her at present until her father returns. Then she will be more her own mis- tress. But the doubt — I don't know when 1 may be back from the North — " At last he stopped short. '* Yes, I will see her to-morrow at all hazards." By-and-by he began to tell his friend of the gay-hearted old albino he had encountered at Lind's house; though in the mean time he reserved to himself the secret of Natalie's mother being alive. 152 SUNRISE. "Lind must have an extraordinary faculty," he said at length, " of inspiring fear, and of getting people to obey him." " He does not look a ferocious person," Lord Evelyn said, with a smile. " I have always found him very courteous and pleasant — frank, amiable, and all the rest of it." " And yet here is this man Calabressa, an old friend of his ; and he talks of Lind with a sort of mysterious awe. He is not a man whom you must think of thwarting. He is the Invulner- able, the Implacable. The fact is, I was inclined to laugh at my good friend Calabressa ; but all the same, it was quite apparent that the effect Lind had produced on his mind was real enough." " Well, you know," said Lord Evelyn, " Lind has a great or- ganization to control, and he must be a strict disciplinarian. It is the object of his life ; everything else is of minor importance. Even you confess that you admire his tremendous power of work." " Yes, I do. I admire his administrative capacity ; it is won- derful. But I don't believe for a moment that it was his mind that projected this big scheme. That must have been the work of an idealist, perhaps of a dozen of them, all adding and help- inof. I think he almost said as much to me one night. His business is to keep the machinery in working order, and he does it to perfection." "There is one thing about him : he never forgets, and he never forgives. You remember the story of Count Verdt ?" " I have cause to remember it. I thought for a moment the wretch had committed suicide because I caught him cheating." " I have been told that Lind played with that fellow like a cat with a mouse. Verdt got hints from time to time that his pun- ishment as a traitor was overtaking him ; and yet he was allowed to live on in constant fear. And it was the Caraorra, and not Lind, or any of Lind's friends, who finished him after all." " Well, that was implacable enough, to be sure ; to have death dogging the poor wretch's heels, and yet refusing to strike." " For myself, I don't pity him much," said Lord Evelyn, as he rose and buttoned his coat. " He was a fool to think he could play such a trick and escape the consequences. Now, Brand, how am I to hear from you to-morrow ? You know I am in a measure responsible." "However it ends, I am grateful to you, Evelyn; you may be FIDELIO. 153 sure of that. I will write to yon from Wolvcrliaiupton, and let you know the worst, or the best." " The best, then : we will have no worsts." lie said good-bye, and went whistling cheerfully down the nar- row oak staircase. He at least was not very apprehensive about the results of the next day's interview. But how brief was this one day, with its rapidly passing op- portunities; and then the stern necessity for departure and ab- sence. He spent half the iiio-ht in devising how best he could get speech of her, in a roundabout fashion, without the dread of the interference of friends. And at last he hit upon a plan which might or might not answer; but he could think of nothing else. He went in the morning and secured a box at Covent Garden for that evening. Then he called at Lisle Street, and got Cala- bressa's address. He found Calabrcssa in his lodgings, shiver- ing and miserable, for the day was wet, misty, and cold. " You can escape from the gloom of our climate. Signer Cala- brcssa," said he. " What do you say to going to the opera to- night?" " Your opera ?" said he, with a gesture indicative of still deep- er despair. " You forget I come from the home, the nursery of opera." " Yes," said Brand, good-naturedly. " Great singers train in your country, but they sing here : that is the difference. Do not be afraid ; you will not be disappointed. See, I have brought you a box ; and if you want companions, why not ask Miss Lind and Madame Potecki to go with you and show you the ways of our English opera-houses ?" "Ah, the little Natalushka!" said Calabressa, eagerly. "Will she go? Do you think she will go? Afafoi, it is not often I have the chance of taking such a beautiful creature to the opera, if she will go ! What must I do ?" "You will have to go and beg ber to be kind to you. Say you have the box — you need not mention how : ask if she will escort you, she and Madame Potecki. Say it is a kindness : she cannot help doing a kindness." "There you are right, monsieur : do not I see it in her eyes? can I not hear it in her voice?" " Well, that you must do at once, before she goes out for her walk at noon." V* 1 54 SUNRISE. " To go out walking on a day like this ?" " She will go out, nevertheless ; and you must go and inter- cept her, and pray her to do you this kindness." ''Apresr " You must come to me again, and we will get an English evening costume for you somehow. Then, two bouquets ; I will get those for you, and send them to the box to await you." " But you yourself, monsieur ; will you not be of the party ?" " Perhaps you bad better say nothing about me, signore ; for one is so busy nowadays. But if I come into the stalls ; if I see you and the ladies in the box, then I shall permit myself to call upon you ; do you understand f ' " Parfaitement," said Calabressa, gravely. Then he laughed slightly. " Ah, monsieur, you English are not good diplomatists. I perceive that you wish to say more ; that you are afraid to say more ; that you are anxious and a little bit demure, like a girl. What you wish is this, is it not : if I say to Madame Potecki, ' Madame, I am a stranger ; will you show me the promenade, that I may behold the costumes of the beautiful English ladies ?' madame answers, ' Willingly.' We go to see the costumes of the beautiful English ladies. Why should you come? You would not leave the young lady all alone in the box?" " Calabressa," he said, frankly, " I am going away to-morrow morning : do you understand that ?" Calabressa bowed gravely. " To comprehend that is easy. AUons, let us play out the lit- tle plot for the amusement of that rogue of a Natalushka. And if she does not thank me — eh bien ! perhaps her papa will : who knows ?" Before the overture began that evening. Brand was in his seat in the stalls ; and he had scarcely sat down when he knew, rather than saw, that certain figures were coming into the box which he had been covertly watching. The opera was Fidelio — that beau- tiful story of a wife's devotion and courage and reward. As he sat and listened, he knew she was listening too ; and he could almost have believed it was her own voice that was pleading so eloquently with the jailer to let the poor prisoner see the light of day for a few minutes in the garden. AVould not that have been her prayer, too, in similar circumstances ? Then Leonora, dis- guised as a youth, is forced to assist in the digging of her own FIDELIO. 155 husband's grave. Pizarro enters ; the unhappy prisoners are driven back to their cells and chains, and Leonora can only call down the vengeance of Heaven on the head of the tyrant. At the end of the act Brand went up to the box and tapped outside. It was opened from within, and he entered. Natalie turned to receive him ; she was a little pale, he thought ; he took a seat immediately behind her; and there was some general talk until the opening of the second act restored silence. For him it was a strange silence, that the music outside did not di?^turb. Sitting behind her, he could study the beautiful profile and the outward curve of her dark eyelashes ; he could see where here and there a delicate curl of the raven-black hair, escaping from the mob-cap of rose-red silk, lay about the small car or wan- dered down to the shapely white neck; he could almost, despite the music, fancy he heard her breathe, as the black gossamer and scarlet flowers of an Indian shawl stirred over the shining satin dress. Her fan and handkerchief were perfumed with white-rose. And to-morrow he would be in Wolverhampton, amidst grimy streets and dirty houses, in a leaden-hued atmosphere laden with damp and the fumes of chimneys, practically alone, with days of monotonous work before him, and solitary evenings to be spent in cheerless inns. What wonder if this seemed some brief vision of paradise — the golden light and glowing color, the soft strains of music, the scent of white-rose ? Doubtless Natalie had seen this opera of Fidelio many a time before ; but she was always intently interested in music ; and she had more than once expressed in Brand's hearing her opinion of the conduct of the ladies and gentlemen who make an opera, or a concert, or a play a mere adjunct to their own foolish laughter and tittle-tattle. She recognized the serious aims of a great ar- tist ; she listened with deep attention and respect ; she could talk idly elsewhere and at other times. And so there was scarce- ly a word said — except of involuntary admiration — as the opera proceeded. But in the scene where the disguised wife discovers her husband in the prison — where, as Pizarro is about to stab him, she flings herself between them to protect him — Brand could see that Natalie Lind was fast losing her manner of calm and crit- ical attention, and yielding to a profounder emotion. When Le- onora reveals herself to her husband, and swears that she will save him, even at such a juncture, from his vindictive enemy — 156 SUNRISE. " Si, si, mio dolce amico, La tua Eleonora ti salveri ; Affronto il suo furor !" the girl gave a slight convulsive sob, and her hands were invol- untarily clasped. Then, as every one knows, Leonora draws a pistol from her bosom and confronts the tyrant ; a trumpet is lieard in the distance; relief is near; and the act winds up with the joyful duet between the released liusband and the courageous wife — "Destin, destin ormai felice .'" Here it was that Calabressa proposed he should escort Madame Potecki to the cooler air of the large saloon ; and madame, who had been young herself, and guessed that the lovers might like to be alone for a few minutes, instantly and graciously acqui- esced. But Natalie rose also, a little quickly, and said that Madame Potecki and herself would be glad to have some coffee ; and could that be got in the saloon ? Madame Potecki and her companion led the way ; but then Brand put his hand on the arm of Natalie and detained her. " Natalie !" he said, in a low and hurried voice, " I am going away to-morrow. I don't know when I shall see you again. Surely you will give me some assurance — some promise; some- thing I can repeat to myself. Natalie, I know the value of what I am asking ; you will give yourself to me?" She stood by the half-shut door, pale, irresolute, and yet out- wardly calm. Her eyes were cast down ; she held her fan firmly with both hands. "Natalie, are you afraid to answer?" Then the young Hungarian girl raised her eyes, and bravely regarded him, though her face was still pale and apprehensive. " No," she said, in a low voice. " But how can I answer you more than this — that if I am not to give myself to you I will give myself to no other? I will be your wife, or the wife of no one. Dear friend, I can say no more." " It is enough." She went quickly to the front of the box ; in both bouquets there were forget-me-nots. She hurriedly selected some, and re- turned and gave them to him. " Whatever happens, you will remember that there was one who at least wished to be worthy of your love." Then they followed their friends into the saloon, and sat down FATHER AND DAUGIITEft. lo7 at a small table, though Natalie's hands were trembling so that- she could scarcely undo her gloves. And George Brand said nothing ; but once or twice he looked into his wife's eyes. CHAPTER XXT. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. When Ferdinand Lind told Calabressa that Natalie had grown to be a woman, he no doubt meant what he said ; but he himself had not the least notion what the phrase implied. He could see, of course, that she had now a woman's years, stature, self-posses- sion ; but, for all that, she was still to him only a child — only the dark-eyed, gentle, obedient little Natalushka, who used to be so proud when she was praised for her music, and whose only show of resolution was when she set to work on the grammar of a new lanfruatife. Indeed, it is the commonest thing in the ^vorld for a son, or a daughter, or a friend to grow in years without those nearest them being aware of the fact, until some chance circum- stance, some crisis, causes a revelation, and we are astounded at the change that time has insidiously made. Such a discovery was now about to confront Ferdinand Lind. He was to learn not onlv that his daughter had left the days of her childhood behind her, but also that the womanhood to which she had attained was of a fine and firm character, a womanhood that rung true when tried. And this is how the discovery was forced on him : On his arrival in London, Mr. Lind drove first to Lisle Street, to pick up letters on his way home. Beratinsky was in the place. Beratinsky had little news about business matters to im- part ; but, instead, he began — as Lind was looking at some of the envelopes — to drop hints about Brand. It was easy to see now, he said, why the rich Englishman was so eager to join them, and give up his life in that way. It was not for nothing. Mr. Lind would doubtless hear more at home ; and so forth. Mr. Lind Avas thinking of other things ; but when he came to understand what these innuendoes meant, he was neither angry nor impatient. He had much toleration for human weakness, and he took it that Beratinsky was only a little off his head with 158 SUNRISE. jealousy. He was aware that it Lad been Beratinsky's ambition to become his sou-in-law : a project that swiftly came to an end through the perfect unanimity of father and daughter on that point. " You are a fool, Beratinsky," he said, as he tied the bundle of letters together. " At your time of life you should not imag- ine that every one's head is full of philandering nonsense. Mr. Brand has something else to think of ; besides, he has been in the midland counties all this time."" " Has he ? Who, then, was taking your daughter to dinner- parties, to theatres — I don't know what ?" Lind dealt gently with this madness. " AYho told you ?" " I have eyes and ears," " Put them to a better use, Beratinsky." Then he left, and the hansom carried him along to Curzon Street. Natalie herself flew to the door when she heard the cab drive up : there she was to receive him, smiling a welcome, and so like her mother that he was almost startled. She cauo;ht his face in her two hands and kissed him. "Ah, papa, why did you not let me come to meet you at Liv- erpool ?" " There were too many with me, Natalie. I was busy. Now get Anneli to open my portmanteau, and you can find out for yourself all the things I have brought for you." " I do not care for them, papa ; I like to have you yourself back." " I suppose you were rather dull, Natalushka, being all by yourself ?" " Sometimes. But I will tell you all that has happened when you are having breakfast." " I have had breakfast, child. Now I shall get through my letters, and you can tell me all that has happened afterward." This was equivalent to a dismissal ; so Natalie went up-stairs, leaving her father to go into the small study, where lay another bundle of letters for him. Almost the first that he opened was from George Brand ; and to his amazement he found, not details about progress in the North, but a simple, straightforward, respectful demand to be per- mitted to claim the hand of Natalie in marriage. He did not FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 159 conceal tlic fact that this proposal had already been made to Natalie herself; he ventured to hope that it was not distasteful to her ; he would also hope that her father had no objections to urge. It was surely better that the future of a young girl in her position should be provided for. As regarded himself, Mr. Lind's acquaintance with hiui was no doubt but recent and comparative- ly slight; but if he wished any further and natural inquiry into the character of the man to whom he was asked to intrust his daughter, Lord Evelyn might be consulted as his closest friend. And a speedy answer was requested. This letter was, on the whole, rather a calm and business-like performance. Brand could appeal to Xatalie, and that earnestly and honestly enough ; he felt he could not bring himself to make any such appeal to her father. Indeed, any third person reading this letter would have taken it to be more of the nature of a formal demand, or something required by the conventionalities; a request the answer to which was not of tremendous importance, seeing that the two persons most interested had already come to an understanding. But Mr. Lind did not look at it in that light at all. He was at first surprised; then vexed and impatient, rather than angry; then determined to put an end to this nonsense at once. If he had deemed the matter more serious, he would have sat down and considered it with his customary forethought ; but he was mere- ly irritated. " Beratinsky was not so mad as I took him to be, after all," he said to himself. " Fortunately, the affair has not gone too far." He carried the open letter up-stairs, and found Natalie in the drawing-room, dusting some pieces of Venetian glass. " Natalie," he said, with an abruptness that startled her, and in a tone of anger which was just a little bit affected — "Natalie, what is the meaning of this folly T' She turned and regarded him. He held the open letter in his hand. She said, calmly, " I do not understand you." This only vexed him the more. "I ask you what you have been doing in my absence?" he said, angrily. " What have you been doing to entitle any man to write me such a letter as this ? His affection ! your future ! — 160 SUNRISE. has he not something else to think of? And you — you seem not to have been quite so dull when I was away, after all I Well, it is time to have an end of it. Whatever nonsense may have been going on, I hope you have both of you come to your senses. Let me hear no more of it !" Xow she saw clearly what the letter must contain — what had stirred her father to such an unusual exhibition of wrath. She was a little pale, but not afraid. There was no tremor in her voice as she spoke. "I am sorry, papa, you should speak to me like that. I think you forget that I am no longer a child. I have done nothing that I am ashamed of ; and if Mr. Brand has written to you, I am willing to share the responsibility of anything he says. You must remember, papa, that I am a woman, and that 1 ought to have a voice in anything that concerns my own happiness." He looked at her almost with wonder, as if he did not quite rec- ognize her. Was this the gentle-natured little Natalushka, whose eyes would fill with tears if she was scolded even in fun ? — this tall, self-possessed girl with the pale face, and the firm and even tones ? " Do you mean to tell me, Natalie, that it is with your consent Brand has written to me ?" her father asked, with frowning brows. " I did not know he would write. I expected he would." " Perhaps," said he, with an ironical smile, " perhaps you have taken time by the forelock, and already promised to be his wife?" The answer was given with the same proud composure. " I have not. But I have promised, if I am not his wife, never to be the w'ife of any other man." It was now that Lind began to perceive how serious this mat- ter was. This w^as no school-girl, to be frightened out of a pass- ing fancy. He must appeal to the reason of a woman ; and the truth is, that if he had known he had this to undertake, he would not so hastily have gone into that drawing-room with the open letter in his hand. " Sit down, Natalie," he said, quite gently. " I want to talk to you. I spoke hastily; I was surprised and angry. Now let us see calmly how matters stand ; I dare say no great harm has been done yet." She took a seat opposite him ; there was not the least sign of FATIIEFl ANU DAUOIITER. IGl any girlish breaking down, even wlion he spoke to her in tliis kind way. " I have no doubt you acted quite rightly and prudently when I was away ; and as for Mr. Brand, well, any one can see that you have grown to be a good-looking young woman, and of course he would like to have a good-looking young wife to show oflf among the country people, and to go riding to hounds with him. Let us see what is involved in your becoming his wife, supposing that were ever seriously to be thought of. You give up all your old sympathies and friends, your interest in the work we liave on hand, and you get transferred to a Buckinghamshire country- house to take the place of the old house-keeper. If you do not hear anything of what is going on — of our struggles — of your friends all over Europe — what of that? You will have the kitch- en-garden to look after, and poultry to feed ; and your neighbors will talk to you at dinner about foxes and dogs and horses and the clergyman's charities. It will be a healthy life, Natalie; per- haps you will get stout and rosy, like an English matron. But your old friends — you will have forgotten them." "Never! — never !" she said, vehemently ; and, despite herself, her eyes filled with tears. "Then we will take Mr. Brand. The Buckinghamshire liouse is open again. An Englishman's house is liis castle ; there is a great deal of work in superintending it, its entertainments, its de- pendents. Perhaps he has a pack of fox-hounds ; no doubt he is a justice of the peace, and the terror of poacliers. But in the midst of all this hunting, and giving of dinner-parties, and shoot- ing of pheasants, do you think he has much time or thought for the future of the millions of poor wretches all over Europe who once claimed liis care ? Not much ! That was in his days of ir- responsible bachelorhood. Now he is settled down — he is a country gentleman. The world can set itself right without him. He is anxious about the price of wheat." "Ah, how you mistake him, papa!" said she, proudly. And there was a proud light on her face too as she rose and quickly went to a small escritoire close by. A few seconds sufficed her to write a short note, wliich she brought back to her father." "There," said she, "I will abide by that test. If he says * yes,' I w ill never see him again — never speak one word to him again." 162 SUNRISE. Her father took the note and read it. It was as follows: " My dear Friexd, — I am anxious about the future for both of us. If you will promise me, now and at once, to give up the ■ivork you are engaged in, I will be your wife, when and where you will. Natalie." " Scud it !" she said, proudly. " I am not afraid. If he says 'yes,' I will never see him again." The challenge was not accepted. He tore the note in two and flung it into the grate. " It is time to put an end to this folly," he said, impatiently. " I have shown you what persistence in it would bring on your- self. You would be estranged from everything and every one you have hitherto been interested in ; you would have to begin a new life, for which you are not fitted ; you would be the means of doing our cause an irreparable injury. Yes, I say so frankly. The withdrawal of this man Brand, which would certainly fol- low, sooner or later, on his marriage, would be a great blow to us. AVe have need of his work ; we have still more need of his mon- ey. And it is you, you of all people in the world, who would be the means of taking him away from us!" " But it is not so, papa," she said, in great distress. " Surely you do not think that I am begging to be allowed to become his wife ? That is for him to decide ; I will follow his wishes as far as I can — as far as you will allow me, papa. But this I know^, that, so far from that interfering with the work he has undertaken, it would only spur him on. Should I have thought of it other- wise ? Ah, surely you know — you have said so to me yourself — he is not one to go back." " He is an Englishman ; you do not understand Englishmen," her father said ; and then he added, firmly, " You are not to be deterred by what may happen to yourself. Well, consider what may happen to him. I tell you I will not have this risk run. George Brand is too valuable to us. If you or he persist in this folly, it will be necessary to provide against all contingencies by procuring his banishment." "Banishment!" she exclaimed, with a quick and frightened look. " That may not sound much to you," said her father, calmly, FATHER AND DALOIITEK. 1G3 " for you have scarcely what may be called a native country. You have lived anywhere, everywhere. It is difFerciit with an Enirlishman, who has his birthplace, his family estate, his friends in Kii!j,laiiht at the tankard of ale. " You see, Mr. Brand," said he, looking cautiously around, and then cfiving a slv wink, " I thought we might have a chat bv our- selves in this corner." Brand nodded ; there was no one near them. "Now I have been considering about what you told me; and last night I called on Professor , of Owens College, ye know, and I had some further talk with him. Well, sir, it's a grand scheme — splendid ; and I don't wonder you've made such ])rogress as I hear of. And when all the lads are going in for it, w hat would they say if old John Molyneux kept out, eh f " Why, they would say he had lost some cf his old pluck; that's about what they would say, isn't it ?" said Brand ; though S 170 SUNRISE. the fact was that he was thinking a good deal more about the letter in his pocket. " There was one point, though, Mr. Brand, that I did not put before either Professor or yourself, and it is important. Tlie point is, dibs." " I beg your pardon," said Brand, absently ; he was, in truth, recalling the various phrases and sentences in that letter of Fer- dinand Lind. "Dibs, sir — dibs," said the farmer -agitator, energetically. *' You know what makes the mare to go. And you know these arc not the best of times ; and some of the lads will be thinking they pay enough into their own Union. That's what I want to know, Mr. Brand, before I can advise any one. You need mon- ey ; how do you get it ? AVhat's the damage on joining, and "after?" Brand pulled himself together. " Oh, money ?" said he. " That need not trouble you. We exact nothing. How could we ask people to buy a pig in a poke? There's not a working-man in the country but would put us down as having invented an ingenious scheme for living on other people's earnings. It is not money we want ; it is men." " Yes, yes," said Molyncux, looking rather puzzled. " But when you've got the machine, you want oil, eh ? The basis of evervthins:, sir, is dibs: what can ve do without it?" "We want money, certainly," Brand said. "But we do not touch a farthing that is not volunteered. There are no com- pulsory subscriptions. We take it that the more a man sees of what we are doing, and of what has to be done, the more he will be willing to give according to his means ; and so far there has been no disappointment." " H'm !" said Molyneux, doubtfully. " I reckon you won't get much from our chaps." "You don't know. It is wonderful what a touch of enthusi- asm will do — and emulation between the local centres. Besides, we are always having accessions of richer folk, and these are ex- pected to make up all deficiencies." "Ah !" said the other. " I see more daylight that way. Now you, Mr. Brand, must have been a good fat prize for them, eh ?" The shrewd inquiring glance that accompanied this remark set George Brand laughing. EVASIONS. 171 "I see, Mr. Mulynciix, y«>ii want to get at tlie 'dibs' of every- thing. "Weil, 1 can't cnligliton you any furtlicr until you join us: you have not said whether you will or not." " I will !" said the other, bringing his fist down on the table, though he still spoke in a loud whisper. " I'm your man ! In for a penny, in for a pound !" "1 beg your pardon," said Brand, politely, "but you an; in for neither, unless you like. You may be in for a good deal of work, though. You must bring us men, and you will be let off both the penny and the pound. Now, could you run up with me to London to-niglit, and be admitted to-morrow, and get to know somethiiiii' of what we are doing T' " Is it necessary ?" "In your case, yes. ^Vc want to make you a person of im- portance." So at last Molyneux agreed, and they started for London in the evening; the big, shrewd, farmer- looking man being as pleased as a child to have certain signs and passwords confided to him. Brand made light of these things — and, in fact, they were only such as were used among the outsiders ; but Molyneux was keenly interested, and already pictured himself going through Europe and holding this subtle conversation with all the un- known companions whom chance might throw in his Avay. But long ere he readied London the motion of tlie train had sent him to sleep ; and George Brand had plenty of time to think over that letter, and to guess at what possible intention might lie under its })lausible phrases. He had leisure to think of other things, too. The question of money, for example — about which Molyneux had been so curious with regard to this association — was one on which he himself was but slightly informed, the treasurv departmoiit Ix'ing altogether outside his sphere. He did not even know whether Lind had private means, or was enabled to live as he did by the association, for its own ends. He knew that the Society had numerous paid agents ; no doubt, he himself could have claimed a salary, had it been worth his while. But the truth is that "dibs" concerned him very little. He had nev- er been extravagant; he had always lived well within liis income; and his chief satisfaction in being possessed of a liberal fortune lay in the fact that he had not to bother his head about money. There was one worry the less in life. 1/2 SUNRISE. But tlien George Brand liad been a good deal about tlie world, and had seen something of human life, and knew very well the power the possession of money gives. ^Vhy, this very indiffc-r- ence, this happy carelessness about pecuniary details, was but the consequence of his having a large fund in the background that he could draw on at will. If he did not overvalue his fortune, on the other hand he did not undervalue it; and he was about the last man in the world who could reasonably have been ex- pected to part with it. CHAPTER XXIII. A TALISMAN. Natalie Lind was busy writing at the window of the drawing- room in Curzon Street when Calabressa entered, unannounced. He had outstripped the little Aniieli ; perhaps he was afraid of being refused. He was much excited. " Forgive me, signorina, if I startle you," he said, rapidly, in his native tongue; "forgive me, little daughter. We go away to- night, I and the man Kirski, whom you saved from madness : we are ordered away ; it is possible I may never see 3'ou again. Now listen." He took a seat beside her ; in his hurry and eagerness he had for the moment abandoned his airy manner. " When I came liere I expected to see you a school-girl — some one in safe-keeping — with no troubles to think of. You are a woman ; you may have trouble ; and it is I, Calabressa, who would then cut off my right hand to help you. I said I would leave you my address ; I cannot. I dare not tell any one even where I am going. What of that ? Look well at this card." He placed before her a small bit of pasteboard, with some lines marked on it. "Now we will imagine that some day yon are in great trouble; you know not what to do; and you suddenly bethink yourself, 'Now it is Calabressa, and the friends of Calabressa, who must help me — ' " " Pardon me, signore," said Natalie, gently. " To whom should I go but to ray father, if I were in trouble? And whv should A TAI.rS.MAN. IT.T one anticijjatc trouble? If it were to come, perhaps one might be al)ie to brave it." "My little daiiLtliter, you vex nie. You must listen. If no trouble comes, well ! If it does, are you any the worse for know- ing that there are many on whom you can rely? Very well; look ! This is the Via Koina in Naples." " I know it," said Natalie : why should she not humor the good-natured old albino, who had been a friend of her mother's? "You go along it until you come to this little lane; it is the Vico Carlo ; you ascend the lane — here is the first turning — you go round, and behold ! the entrance to a court. The court is dark, but there is a lamp burning all day ; go farther in, there are wine-vaults. You enter the wine-vaults, and say, ' Bartolotti.' You do not say, ' Is Signor Bartolotti at home V or, ' Can I see the illustrious Signor Bartolotti,' but * Bartolotti,' clear and short. You understand ?" "You give yourself too much trouble, signore." " I hope so, little daughter. I hope you will never have to search for these wine-vaults; but who knows? Alors, one comes to you, and says, 'What is your pleasure, signorina?' Then you ask, * Where is Calabressa ?' The answer to that ? It may be, ' We do not know ;' or it may be, ' Calabressa is in prison again ;' or it may be, ' Calabressa is dead.' Never mind. When Cala- bressa dies, no one will care less than Calabressa himself." " Some one would care, signore ; you have a mother." He took hor hand. "And a daughter, too," he said, lightly; "if the wicked little minx would only listen. Then you know what you must say to the man whom you will see at the wine-vaults ; you must say this, ' Brother, I come with a message from Calabressa ; it is the daughter of Natalie Borezolyi who demands your help.' Then do you know what will happen ? From the next morning you will be under the protection of the greatest power in Europe ; a power unknown but invincible ; a power that no one dares to disobey. Ah, little one, you will tind out what the friends of Calabressa can do for you when you appeal to them !" He smiled proudly. '''' Allans. ' Put this card away in a secret place. Do not show it to any one ; let no one know the name I confided to you. Can you remember it, little daughter?" 174 SUNRISE. " Bartolotti." " Good ! Now that is oire point settled ; here is the next. You do not seem to have any portrait of your mother, my little one ?" "Ah, no!" she exclaimed, quietly; for she was more interest- ed now. " I suppose my father could not bear to be reminded of his loss : if there is any portrait, I have not seen it; and how could I ask him ?" He regarded her for a moment, and then he spoke more slow- ly than hitherto : " Little Xatalushka, I told you T am going away ; and who knows what may happen to me? I have no money or land to leave to any one ; if I had a wife and children, the only name I could leave them would be the name of a jailbird. If I were to leave a will behmd me, it would read, ' My heart to my beloved Italia ; my curse to Austria; and my — ' Ah, yes, after all I have something to leave to the little Xataliishka." He put his hand, which trembled somewhat, into the breast of his coat, and brought out a small leather case. " I am about to give you my greatest treasure, little one ; my only treasure. I think you will value it." He opened the case and handed it to her ; inside there was a miniature, painted on ivory ; it might have been a portrait of Natalie herself. For some time the girl did not say a word, but her eyes slowly filled with tears. " She was verv beautiful, signore," she murmured. "Ah, little daughter," he said, cheerfully, " I am glad to see the portrait in safe-keeping at last. Many a risk I have run with it; many a time I have had to hide it. And you must hide it too ; let no one see it but yourself. But now you will give me one of your own in exchange, my little one ; and so the bargain is complete." She went to the small table adjuining to hunt among the photographs. " And lastly, one more point, Signorina Natalushka," said Ca- labressa, with the air of one who had got through some difficult work. " You asked me once to find out for you who was the ladv from whoTn vou received the little silver locket. Well, vou see, that is now out of my power. I am going away. If you are still curious, you must ask some one else ; but is it not natu- A TALISMAN, 175 val to suppose tliat tlie locket may have been stolen a great many years aoo, and at last the thief resolves to restore it ? No mat- ter; it is only a locket." She retiinicd with a few photographs for him to choose from. He picked out two. "There is one for me ; there is one for my old mother. I will say to her, ' Do you remember the young Hungarian lady who came to see you at Spezia? Put on your spectacles now, and see whether that is not the same young lady. Ah, good old mother; can you see no better than that? — that is not Natalie Berezolyi at all ; that is her daughter, who lives in ?]iigland. But she has not got the English way ; she is not content when she herself is comfortable ; she thinks of others ; she lias an ear for voices afar off.' That is what I shall say to the old mother." He put the photographs in his pocket. "In the mean time, my little daughter," said he, " now that our pressing business is over, one may speak at leisure : and what of you, now ? My sight is not very good ; but even my eyes can see that you are not looking cheerful enough. You arc troubled, Natalushka, or you would not have forgotten to thank nie for giving you the only treasure I have m the world." The girl's pale face flushed, and she said, quickly, "There are some things that arc not to be expressed in words, Signor Calabressa. I cannot tell you what I think of your kind- ness to me." " Silence — silence ! do you not understand my joking ? Eh, hien ; let ns understand each other. Your father has spoken to me — a little, not much. He would rather have an end to the love affair, n^est ce pas .^" " There are some other things that are not to be spoken of," the girl said, in a low voice, but somewhat proudly. " Natalushka, I will not have you answer me like that. It is not right. If you knew all my history, perhaps you would un- derstand why I ask you questions — why I interfere — why you think me impertinent — " "Oh no, signore ; how can I think that?" She had her mother's portrait in her hand ; she was gazing into the face that was so strangely like her own. " Then why not answer me ?" She looked up with a quick, almost despairing look. 17G SUNRISE. " Because I try not to think about it," she said, hurriedly. " Because I try to think only of my work. And now, Signor Calabressa, you liave given nie sometliiug else to think about ; something to be my corapatiiun when I am alone; and from my heart I thank you." " But you speak as if you were in great grief, my little one. It is not all over between you and your lover?" " How can I tell ? "What can I say ?" she exclaimed ; and for a moment her eyes looked up with the appealing look of a child. " He does not write to me. I may not write to him. I must not see him." "Bat then there may be reasons for delay and consideration, little Xataluslika; your father may have reasons. And your fa- ther did not speak to me as if it were altogether impossible. What he said was, in effect, ' We will see — we will see.' How- ever, let us return to the important point : it is my advice to you — you cannot have forgotten it — that whatever happens, what- ever you may think, do not, little one, seek to go against your fa- ther's wishes. You will promise me that?" " I have not forgotten, signore ; but do you not remember my answer? I am no longer a child. If I am to obey, I must have reasons for obeying." "What?" said he, smiling. "And you know that one of our chief principles is that obedience is a virtue in itself?" " I do not belong to your association, Signor Calabressa." " The little rebel !" " No, no, signore ; do not drive me into a false position. I can- not understand my father, wlio has always been so kind to me ; it is better not to speak of it: some day, when you come back, Signor Calabressa, you will find it all a forgotten story. Some people forget so readily; do they not?" The trace of pathetic bitterness in her speech did not escape him. "My child," said he, "you are suffering; I perceive it. But it may soon be over, and your joy will be all the greater. If not, if the future has trouble for you, remember what I have told you. Allons done ! Keep up a brave heart ; but I need not say that to the child of the lierezolyis." lie rose, and at the same moment a bell was heard below. "You are not going, Signor Calabressa? That must be my father." A TALISMAN, 177 "Your father!" lio oxclaiiued; and he socined confused. Then lie added, tjuickly, "All, very well. I will sec him as I go down. Our business, little one, is finished ; is it not ? Now repeat to nie the name I nieiiti'ined to }rand was on the point of asking what would then become of Natalie, but he forbore. He changed the subject altogether. " How is that mad Russian fellow getting on — Kirski ? Still working V " Yes ; at another kind of work. Calabressa has undertaken to turn his vehemence into a proper channel — to let off the steam, as it were, in another direction." " Calabressa ?" " Kirski has become the humble disciple of Calabressa, and has gone to (ienoa with him." '' What folly is this 1" Brand said. " Have you admitted that maniac ?" " Certainly ; such force was not to be wasted." " A pretty disciple ! How much Russian does Calabressa know ?" "Gathorne Edwards is with them; it is some special business. Both Calabressa and Kirski will be capital linguists before it is over." " But how has Edwards got leave again from the British Museum V Reitzei shrugged his shoulders. "1 believe Lind wants to buv him over altogether. \Ve could pay him more than the British Museum." At this moment there was a sound outside of some one. ascend- 182 SUNRISE. ing the stair, and directly afterward Mr. Lind entered the room. As he came in Reitzei left. " How do you do, Mr. Brand?" Lind said, shaking his visitor's hand with great warmth. " Very glad to see you looking so well ; hard work docs not hurt you, clearly. I hope I have not incommoded you in asking you to run up to London?" "Not at all," Brand said. "Molyneux came up with me last night." " Ah ! You have gained him over ?" " Quite." " Again I congratulate you. Well, now, since we have begun upon business, let us continue upon business." He settled himself in his chair, as if for some serious talk. Brand could not help being struck by the brisk, vivacious, ener- getic look of this man ; and on this morning he was even more than usually smartly dressed. Was it his daughter who had put that flower in his button-hole ? " I will speak frankly to you, and as clear as I can in my poor English. You must let me say, without flattery, that we are all very indebted to you — very proud of you ; we are glad to have you with us. And now that you see farther and farther about our work, I trust you are not disap[)ointed. You understand at the outset you must take so much on trust." " I am not in the least disappointed ; quite the reverse," Brand said ; and he remembered Calabressa, and spoke in as friendly a way as possible, " Indeed, many a time T am sorry one cannot explain more fully to those who are only inquiring. If they could only see at once all that is going on, they would have no more doubt. And it is slow work with some of them." " Yes, certainly ; no doubt. Well, to return, if you please: it is a satisfaction you are not disappointed ; that you believe we are doing a good work ; that you go with us. Very well. You have advanced grade by grade; you see nothing to repent of; why not take the final step ?" "I don't quite understand you," he said, doubtfully. "I will explain. You have given yourself to us — your time, your labor, your future ; but the final step of self-sacrifice — is it so very difficult? In many cases it is merely a challenge: we say, ' Show that you can trust us even for your very livelihood. Become absolutely dependent on us, even for your food, your AX ALTERNATIVE. 183 drink, your clothes.' In your case, I admit, it is something more : it is an invitation to a very considerable sclf-sacritice. All the more proof that you are not afraid." "I do not think 1 am afraid," said Brand, slowly ; "but — " "One moment. The atfair is simple. The otKcers of our society — those who govern — those from wliom are chosen the members of the Council — that Council that is more powerful than any government in Europe — those officers, I say, are re- quired first of all to surrender every farthing of personal prop- erty, so that they shall become absolutely dependent on the So- ciety itself — " Brand looked a trifle bewildered : more than that, resentful and indiiinant, as if his common-sense had received a shock. " It is a necessary condition," Lind continued, without eager- ness — rather as if he wore merely enunciating a theory. " It in- sures absolute equality ; it is a proof of faith. And you may per- ceive that, as I am alive, they do not allow one to starve." The slight smile that accompanied this reniark was meant to be reassuring. Certainly, Mr. Lind did not starve ; if the Society of which he was a member enabled him to live as he did in Cur- zon Street, he had little to complain of. " You mean," said George Brand, " that before I enter this highest grade, next to the Council, I must absolutely surrender my entire fortune to you ?" "To the common fund of the Society — yes," was the reply; uttered as a matter of course. " But there is no compulsion ?" " Certainly not. On this point every one is free. You may remain in your present grade if you please." " Then I confess to yon I don't see why I should change," Brand said, franklv. " Cannot I work as well for vou iust as I am ?" " Perhaps ; perhaps not," said the other, easily. " But you perceive, further, that the fact of our not exacting subscriptions from the poorer members of our association makes it all the more necessary that we should have voluntary gifts from the richer. And as regards a surplus of wealth, of what use is that to any one? Am I not oranted as much money as one need rea- sonably want? And just now there is more than ever a need of money for the general purposes of the Society : Lord Evelyn gave us a thousand pounds last week." 184 SUNRISE. Brand flushed red. " I wish you liad told mc," he said ; " I would rather have o;ivcn vou five thousand. You know he cannot afford it." " The greater the merit of the sacrifice," said his companion, calmly. This proposal was so audacious that George Brand was still a little bewildered; but the fact was that, while listening very re- spectfully to Mr. Liud, he had been thinking more about Natalie; and it was the most natural thing in the world that some thought of her should now intervene. "Another thing, Mr. Lind," said he, though he was rather em- barrassed. " Even if I were to make such a sacrifice, as far as I am concerned ; if I were to run the risk for myself alone, that might be all very well ; but supposing that I were to marry, do you think I should like my wife to run such a risk — do you think I should be justified in allowing her ? And surely you ought not to ask me. It is your own daughter — " Excuse me, Mr. Brand," said the other, blandly but firmly. "We will restrict ourselves to business at the present moment, if you will be so kind. I wrote to' you all that occurred to me when I had to consider your very flattering proposal with regard to my daughter; I may now add that, if any thought of her in- terfered with your decision in this matter, I should still further regret that you had ever met." " You do not take the view a father would naturally take about the future of his own daughter," said Brand, bluntly. Lind was not in the least moved by this taunt. " I should allow^ neither the interests of my daughter nor my own interests to interfere with my sense of duty," said he. " Do you know me so little? Do you know her so little? Ah, then you have much to learn of her 1" Lind looked at him for a second or two, and added, with a slight smile, "If you decide to say no, be sure I will not say a word of it to her. No ; I will still leave the child her hero in her imagina- tion. For when I said to her, 'Natalie, an Englishman will do a good deal for the good of the people — he will give you his sym- pathy, his advice, his time, his labor — but he will not put his hand in his pocket;' then she said, 'All, but you do not understand Mr. Brand yet, papa; he is with us; he is. not one to go back.' ". A.V ALTERNATiVK. 185 " But tliis abandonment of one's property is so disproportion- ate ill (litlVrent cases — " " The greater the sacrifice, the greater the merit," returned the otlier: then lie immediately added, " But do not imagine I am seekino' to persuade you. I place before you the condition on which you may go forward and attain the highest rank, ultimate- ly perhaps the greatest power, in this organization. Ah, you do not understand what that is as yet. If you knew, you would not hesitate very long, I think." "But — but suppose I have no great ambition," Brand remon- strated. "Suppose I am quite content to go on doing what I can in my present sphere P " Vuu have already sworn to do your utmost in every direc- tion. On this one point of money, however, the various Coun- cils have never departed from the principle that there must be no compulsion. On any^ other point the Council orders; you obey. On this point the voluntary sacriiice has, as I say, all the more merit; and it is not forgotten. For what are you doing? You are yielding up a superabundance that you cannot use, so that thousands and thousands of the poor throughout the world may not be called on to contribute theh- pence. You are giving the tinal proof of your devotion. You are taking the vow of pover- ty and dependence, which many of the noblest brotherhoods the world has seen have exacted from their members at the very out- set ; but in your case with the difference that you can absolutely trust to the resources of an immense association — " " Yes, as far as I am concerned," Brand said, quickly, "But I ask you whether I should be justitied in throwing away this power to protect others. May I appeal to Natalie herself ? May I ask herT' " I am afraid, Mr. Brand," said the other, with the same mild firmness, " I must request you in the mean time to leave Natalie out of consideration altogether. This is a question of duty, of principle; it must regulate our future i*elations with each other; pray let it stand by itself." Brand sat silent for a time. There were many things to think over. He recalled, for example, though vaguely, a conversation he had once had with Lord Evelyn, in which this very question of money was discussed, and in which he had said that he would above all things make sure he was not being duped. Moreover, 186 SUNRISE. he bad intended that his property, in the event of his dying un- married, should go to his ncpliews. But it was not liis sister's boys who were now uppermost in liis mind. He rose. " You cannot expect me to give you a definite answer at once," he said, ahnost absently. " No ; but before you go, let me add this," said the other, regarding his companion with a watchful look: "the Council are not only in urgent need of liberal funds just now, but also, in several directions, of diligent and exceptional service. The money contribution which they demand from England I shall be able to meet somehow, no doubt ; hitherto I have not failed them. The claim for service shall not find us wanting, either, I hope ; and it has been represented to me that perhaps you ought to be transferred to Philadelphia, where there is much to be done at the present moment." This suggestion effectually woke Brand from his day-dream. " Philadelphia !" he exclaimed. " Yes," said the other, speaking very slowly, as if anxious that every word should have weight. " My visit, short as it was, en- abled me to see how well one might employ one's whole lifetime there — witli such results as would astonish our good friends at head-quarters, I am sure of that. True, the parting from one's country might be a little painful at first; but that is not the greatest of the sacrifices that one should be prepared to submit to. However," he added, rather more lightly, "this is still to be decided on ; meanwhile I hope, and I am sure you hope too, Mr. Brand, that I shall be able to satisfy the Council that the Eng- lish section docs not draw back when called on for its services." " No doubt — no doubt," Brand said ; but the pointed way in which his companion had spoken did not escape him, and prom- ised to afford him still further food for reflection. Jiut if this was a threat, he woufd show no fear. " Molyneux wishes to get back North as soon as possible," he said, in a matter-of-fact way, just as if they had been talking of commonplace affairs the whole time. " I suppose his initiation could take place to-morrow night?" "Certainly," said Mr. Lind, following his visitor to the door. "And you must allow me to thank you once more, my dear Mr. Brand, for your service in securing to us such an ally. I should A krien'd's advice. 187 like to have talked with you about your experiences in the North; but you aoTcc with me that the snfra;estion I have made demands your serious consideration first — is it not so ?" ]>rand nodded. " I will K't you know to-morrow," said he. " Good-morninp,'!" "Good - innr, ling !" said Mr. Lind, pleasantly; and then the door was shut. He was attended down-stairs by the stout old German, who, on reaching the front-door, drew forth a letter from his pocket and handed it to him with much pretence of mystery. He was thinking of other things, to tell the truth; and as he walked along he regarded the outside of the envelope with but little cu- riosity. It was addressed, ''^AlV Er/rer/io Signorc, It Signor G. Brandy "No doubt a begging letter from some Leicester Square fel- low," he thought. Presently, however, he opened the letter, and read the follow- ing message, which was also in Italian : " The beautiful caged little bird sighs and weeps, because she thinks she is forgotten. A word of remembrance would be kind, if her friend is discreet and secret. Above all, no open strife. This from one who departs. Farewell !" CHAPTER XXV. A friend's advice. This must be said for George Brand, that while he was hard and unsympathetic in the presence of those whom he disliked or distrusted, in the society of those whom he did like and did trust he was docile and acquiescent as a child, easily led and easily persuaded. When he went from Lind's chamber, wdiieh had been to him full of an atmosphere of impatience and antagonism, to Lord Evelyn's study, and found his friend sitting reading there, his whole attitude changed ; and his first duty was to utter a series of remonstrances about the thousand pounds. "You can't afford it, Evelyn. Why didn't you come to me? I would have given it to you a dozen times over rather than you should have paid it." 188 SUNRISE. " No doubt you would," said the pale lad. " That is why I did not come to you." " I wish you could get it back." " I would not take it hack. It is little enough I can do ; why not let me give such help as I can ? If only those girls would begin to marrv off, I might do more. But there is such a band of them that men are afraid to come near them." "I think it would be a pity to spoil the group," said Brand. " The country should subscribe to keep them as they are — the perfect picture of an English family. However, to return : you must promise me not to commit any of these extravagances again. If any appeal is made to you, come to me." But here a thought seemed to strike him. "Ah," he said, "I have something to tell you. Lind is trying to get me to enter the same grade of officership with himself. And do you know what the first qualification is? — that you give up every penny you possess in the world." " Well ?" " Well !" The two friends stared at each other — the one calmly inquisi- tive, the other astounded. "I thought you would have burst out laughing?" Brand ex- claimed. " Why ?" said the other. " You have already done more for them — for us — than that: why should you not do all in your power ? Why should you not do all that you can, and while you can ? Look 1" They were standing at the window. On the other side of the street far below them were some funei'al carriages ; at this pre- cise moment the coffin was being carried across the pavement. " That is the end of it. I say, why shouldn't you do all that you can, and while you can?" "Do you want reasons? Well, one has occurred to me since I came into this room. A minute ago I said to you that you must not repeat that extravagance ; and I said if you were ap- pealed to again you could come to me. But what if I had al- ready surrendered every penny in the world? I wish to retain in mv own hands at least the power to help ray friends." "That is only another form of selfishness," said Lord Evelyn, laughing. " I fear you are as yet of weak faith, Brand." A HUEXU'S ADVICE. 189 He turned from the liglit, and went and sunk into the sliadow of a oTcat arni-cliair. "Now 1 know wliat y<>u arc going to do, Evelyn," said his fricml. "You are going to talk me out of my common-sense; ;iii(l I will nut have it. I want to show you why it is impossible 1 should agree to this demand." " If you feel it to be imi)ossiblc, it is impossible." " My dear fellow, is it reasonable ?" " I dislike things that are reasonable." " There is but one way of getting at you. Have you thought of Natalie ?" "Ah !" said the other, quickly raising himself into an expectant attitude. "You will listen now, I suppose, to reason, to common-sense. Do you think it likely that, with the possibility of her becoming my wife, I am going to throw away this certainty and leave her to all the chances of the world ? _ Lind says that the Society amply provides for its officers. Very well ; that is quite proba- ble. I tell him that I am not afraid for myself; if I had to think of myself alone, there is no saying what I might not do, even if I were to laugh at myself for doing it. But how about Natalie? Lind might die. I might be sent away to the ends of the earth. Do you think I am going to leave lier at the mercy of a lot of people whom she never saw ?" Lord Evelyn was silent. " Besides, there is more than that," his friend continued, warm- ly. "You may call it selfishness, if you like, but if you love a woman and she gives her life into your hands — well, she has the first claim on you. I will put it to you : do you think I am going to sell the Bceches^when — when she might live there ?" Lord Evelyn did not answer. " Of course I am willing to subscribe largely," his friend con- tinued ; "and Natalie lierself would say yes to that. But I am not ambitions. I don't want to enter that grade. I don't want to sit in Lind's chair when he gets elected to tlie Council, as has been suggested to me. I am not qualified for it; I don't care about it; I can best do mv own work in mv own wav." At last Lord Evelyn spoke; but it was in a meditative fashinn, and not very much to the point. He lay back in his easy-chair, 190 SUNRISE. his hands clasped behind his head, and talked ; and his talk was not at all about the selling of Hill Beeches in Buckinglianisliire, but of much more abstract matters. He spoke of the divine wrath of the reformer — what a curious thing it was, that fiery impatience with what was wrong in the world; how it cropped up here and there from time to time; and how one abuse after another had been burnt up by it and swept away forever. Give the man possessed of this holy rage all the beauty and wealth and ease in the world, and he is not satisfied ; there is something within him that vibrates to the call of humanity without; others can pass by what does not affect themselves with a laugh or a shrug of indifference; he only must stay and labor till the wrong thing is put right. And how often had he been jeered at by the vulgar of his time; how Common-Sense had pointed the fin- ger of scorn at him; how Respectability had called him crazed! John Brown at Harper's Ferry is only a ridiculous old fool ; his effort is absurd; even gentlemen in the North feel an "intellect- ual satisfaction" that he is hanged, because of his "preposterous miscalculation of possibilities." Yes, no doubt; you hang liira, and there is an end; but "his soul goes marching on," and the slaves are freed ! You want to abolish the Corn-laws? — all good society shrieks at you at first : you are a Radical, a regicide, a Judas Iscariot ; but in time the nation listens, and the poor have cheap bread. " Mazzini is mad !" the world cries : " why this use- less bloodshed ? It is only political murder." Mazzini is mad, no doubt; but in time the beautiful dream of Italy — of "Italia, the world's wonder, the world's care" — comes true. And what matter to the reformer, the agitator, the dreamer, though you stone him to death, or throw him to the lions, or clap him into a nineteenth-century prison and shut his mouth that way ? He has handed on the sacred fire. Others will bear the torch ; and he who is unencumbered will outstrip his fellows. The wrono- must be put right. And so forth, and so forth. Brand sat and listened, recog- nizing here and there a proud, pathetic phrase of Natalie's, and knowing well whence the inspiration came ; and as he listened he almost felt as though that beautiful old place in Buckinghamshire was slipping through his fingers. The sacrifice seemed to be be- coming less and less of a sacrifice ; it took more and more the form of a duty ; would Natalie's eyes smile approval ? A friend's auvice. 191 Brand jumped up, and touk a ia[iid turn ur two iip and down the room. " I Wdh't listen to von, Evclvn. Yon don't know anvtliino: about nioiK'V-inatters. You care for notliin"; but ideas. Now, I come of a commercial stock, and I want to know what j2;uaraii- tee I have that this money, if I were to give it up, would be properly ap[)lied. Lind's assurances arc all very well — " " Oh yes, of course ; you have got back to Lind," said Lord Evelyn, waking up from his reveries. "Do you know, my dear fellow, that your distrust of Lind is rapidly developing into a sharp and profound hatred?" " I take men as 1 tind them. Perhaps you can explain to me how Lind should care so little for the future of his daughter as to propose — with the possibility of our marrying — that she should be left penniless?" " I can explain it to myself, but not to you ; you are too thor- ough an Englishman." "Are you a foreigner?" " I try to understand those who arc not English. Xow, an Englishman's theory is that he himself, and his wife and chil- dren — his domestic circle, in fact — are the centre of creation; and that the fate of empires, as he finds that going one way or the other in the telegrams of the morning paper, is a very small matter compared with the necessity of Tom's going to Eton, or Dick's marrying and settling down as tlie bailiff of the ^Vorces- tershire farm. That is all very well ; but other people may be of a ditferent habit of mind. Lind's heart and soul are in his present work ; he would sacrifice himself, his daughter, you, or anybody else, to it, and consider himself amply justified. Ue does not care about money, or horses, or the luxury of a big es- tablishment; I suppose he has liad to live on simple fare many a time, whether he liked it or not, and can put up with what- ever happens. If you imagine that you may be cheated by a portion of your money — supposing you were to adopt his pro- posal — going into his pocket as commission, you do him a wrong." "No, I don't think that,'' Brand said, rather unwillingly. '' 1 don't take liim to be a common and vulgar swindler. And I can verv well believe that he does not care verv much for monev or luxurv or that kind of thing, so far as he himself is concerned. 192 SUNRISE. Still, you would thinlc tliat tlie ordinary instinct of a father would prevent hh doinji; an injury to tlie future of his daughter — " " Would he consider it an injury ? Would she V "Well," Brand said, " she is very enthusiastic, and nohlc, and generous, and does not know what dependence or poverty means. But he is a man of the world, and you would think he would look after his own kith and kin." " Yes, that is a wholesome conservative English sentiment, but it does not rule the actions of everybody." " But common-sense — " " Oh, bother common-sense ! Common-sense is only a grocer that hasn't got an idea beyond ham-and-eggs." '' Well, if I am only a grocer," Brand said, quite submissively, " don't you think the grocer, if he were asked to pay oil the National Debt, ought to say, 'Gentlemen, that is a praiseworthy object ; but in the mean time wouldn't it be advisable for me to make sure that my wife mayn't have to go on the parish?" Thereafter there was silence for a time, and when Brand next spoke it was in a certain, precise, hard fashion, as if he wished to make his meaning very clear. " Suppose, Evelyn," he said, " I were to tell you what has oc- curred to me as the probable explanation of Lind's indifference about the future of his daughter, would you be surprised?" "I expect it will be wrong, for you cannot do justice to that man ; but I should like to hear it." "I must tell you he wrote lue a letter, a shilly-shallying sort of letter, filled with arguments to prove that a marriage be- tween Natalie and myself would not be ex[)edient, and all the rest of it: not absolutely refusing his consent, you understand, but postponing the mattter, and hoping that on further reflection, et csetera, et caetera. Well, do you know what my conclusion is? — that he is definitely resolved I shall not marry his daughter; and that he is playing with me, humbugging me with the possi- bility of marrying her, until he induces me to hand him over my fortune for the use of the Society. Stare away as you like ; that is what I believe to be true." He rose and walked to the window, and looked out. " Well, Evelyn, whatever happens, I have to thank you for many things. It has been all like my boyhood come back again, but much more wonderful and beautiful. If I have to go to A friend's advice. 19:J America, I shall take with me at least the memory of one night at Co vent Garden. She was there — and Madame rotccki — and old Calabressa. It was Fidelio they were playing. She gave me some forget-rac-nots." " What do you mean by going to America?" Lord Evelyn said. Brand remained at the window for a minute or two, silent, and then he returned to his chair. "You will say I am unjust again. I>ut unless I am incapable of understanding English — such English as he speaks — this is his ultimatum : that unless I give my property, every cent of it, over to the Society, I am to go to America. It is a distinct and positive threat." "How can you say so!" the other remonstrated. "He has just been to America himself, without any compulsion wliatevcr." "He has been to America for a certain number of weeks. I am to go for life — and, as he imagines, alone." His face had been growing darker and darker, the brows low- ering ominously over the eyes. "Now, Brand," his friend said, "you are letting your distrust of this man Lind become a madness. What if lie were to say to-morrow that you might marry Natalie the day after?" The other looked up almost bewildered. " I would say he was serving some purpose of his own. But he will not say that. He means to keep his daughter to him- self, and he means to have my money." " Why, you admitted, a minute ago, that even you could not suspect him of that !" " Not for liimself — no. Probably he does not care for money. But he cares for ambition — for power; and there is a vacancy in the Council. Don't you see? This would be a tremendous large sum in the eyes of a lot of foreigners: they would be grate- ful, would they not? And Natalie once transferred to Italy, I could console myself with the honor and dignity of Lind's chair in Lisle Street. Don't you perceive ?" "I perceive this — that you misjudge Lind altogether. T am sure of it. I have seen it from the beginniiig — from the moment you set your foot in his house. And you tried to blind your- self to the fact because of Natalie. Now that you imagine he means to take Natalie from you, all your pent-up antagonism breaks loose. Meanwhile, w hat does Natalie herself say ?" 9 194 SUNRISE. " What does she say V he repeated, mechanically. He also was lying back in his chair, his eyes gazing aimlessly at the win- dow. But whenever any one spoke of Natalie, or whenever he himself had to speak of her, a quite new expression came into his face : the brows lifted, the eyes were gentle. " "What does she say ? Why, nothing. Lind requested me neither to see her nor to write to her; and I thought that reasonable until I should have heard what he had to say to me. There is a message I got half an hour ago — not from her." He handed to Lord Evelyn the anonymous scroll that he had received from the old German. " Poor old C^labressa !" he said. " Those Italians are always very fond of little mysteries. But how he must have loved that woman !" " Natalie's mother ?" *' Yes," said the other, absently. " I wonder he has never gone to see his sweetheart of former years." " What do you mean V Brand started. It was not necessary that- Lord Evelyn should in the mean time be intrusted with that secret. " He told me that when he saw Natalie it was to him like a vision from the dead ; she was so like her mother. But I must be off, Evelyn ; I have to meet Molyneux at two. So that is your advice," he said, as he went to the door — " that I should comply with Lind's demand ; or — to put it another way — suc- cumb to his threat ?" " It is not my advice at all — quite the contrary. I say, if you have any doubt or distrust — if you cannot make the sacrifice without perfect faith and satisfaction to yourself — do not think of it." " And go to America ?" " I cannot believe that any such compulsory alternative exists. But about Natalie : surely you will send her a message : Lind cannot object to that ?" " I will send her no message ; I will go to her," the other said, firmly. " I believe Lind wishes me not to see her. Within the duties demanded of me by the Society, his wishes are to me com- mands ; elsewhere and otherwise neither his wishes nor his com- mands do I value more than a lucifer - match. Is that plain enough, Evelyn ?" A PUOMISE. 195 And so he went away, forgetting all the sage counsel Cala- bressH had given Iiim ; thinking ratlier of tlie kindly, tlionghtful, mysterious little message the old man had left behind him, and of the beautiful caged bird that sighed and wept because she thought she was forgotten. She should not think that long ! CHAPTER XXVI. A PROMISE. Tins was a dark time indeed for Natalie Lind — left entirely by herself, ignorant of what was happening around her, and haunted by vague alarms. But the girl was too proud to show to any one how much she suffered. On the contrary, she rea- soned and remonstrated with herself; and forced herself to as- sume an attitude of something more than resignati(jn, of resolu- tion. If it was necessary that her father should be obeyed, that her lover should maintain this cruel silence, even that he and she should have the wide Atlantic separate them forever, she would not repine. It was not for her who had so often appealed to others to shrink from sacrifice herself. And if this strange new hope that had tilled her heart for a time had to be finally aban- doned, what of that? "What mattered a single life? She had the larger liope ; there was anotlier and greater future for her to think about ; and she could cherish the thought that she at least had done nothing to imperil or diminish the work to which so many of her friends had given their lives. But silence is hard to bear. Ever since the scene with her father, a certain undeclared estrangement had prevailed between these two ; and no reference whatsoever had been made to George ' CD Brand. Ilcr lover had sent her no message — no word of encour- agement, of assurance, or sympathy. Even Calabrcssa had gone. There remained to her only the portrait that Calabrcssa had given her ; and in the solitude of her own room many a time she sat and gazed at the beautiful face with some dim, wondering belief that she was looking at her other self, and that she could read in the features some portion of her own experiences, her own joys and sorrows. For surely those soft, dark, liquid eyes must have loved and been beloved? And had they too filled 196 SUNRISE. with oladncss when a certain step liad been heard coming near? and liad tliey looked up with trust and pride and tenderness, and tilled with tears again in absence, when only the memory of loving words remained ? She recalled many a time what Cala- bressa had said to her — " My child, may Heaven keep you as true and brave as your mother was, and send you more happiness." Her mother, then, had not been happy ? But she was brave, Calabressa had said : when she loved a man, would she not show herself worthy of her love ? This was all very well ; but in spite of her reasoning and her forced courage, and her self-possession in the presence of others, Natalie had got into the habit of crying in the quietude of her own room, to the great distress of the little Anneli, who had sur- prised her once or twice. And the ros3'-cheeked German maid guessed pretty accurately what had happened; and wondered very much at the conduct of English lovers, who allowed their sweethearts to pine and fret in solitude without sending them letters or coming to see them. But on this particular afternoon Anneli opened the door, in answer to a summons, and found out- side a club commissionaire whom she had seen once or twice be- fore ; and when he gave her a letter, addressed in a handwriting which she recognized, and asked for an answer, she was as much agitated as if it had come from her own sweetheart in Gorlitz. She snatched it from the man, as if she feared he would take it back. She flew with it up - stairs, breathless. She forgot to knock at the door. "Oh, Fraulein, it is a letter!" said she, in great excitement, " and there is to be an answer — " Then she hesitated. But the good-sense of the child told her she ought to go. " I will wait outside, Fraulein. Will you ring when you have written the answer ?" When Natalie opened the letter she was outwardly quite calm — a little pale, perhaps ; but as she read it her heart beat fast. And it was her heart that instantly dictated the answer to this brief and simple appeal : " My Natalie, — It is your father's wish that I should not see you. Is it your wish also? There is something I would like to say to you." A PROMISE. 197 It was her heart that answered. She rose directly. She never tlu^iio-ht twice, or even once, about any wish, or menace, or pos- sible consequence. She went straight to her desk, and with a shakinu' hand wrote these lines: " Mv Own, — Come to me now, at any time — when you please. Am I not yours:" Natalie." Despite herself, she had to pause, to steady her hand — and be- cause her heart was beating so fast that she felt choked — before she could properly address the envelope. Then she carried the letter to Anneli, who she knew was waitino* outside. That done, she shut herself in again, to give herself time to think, though in truth she could scarcely think at all. For all sorts of emotions were struggling for the mastery of her — joy and a proud resolve distinctly predominant. It was done, and she would abide by it. She was not given to fear. But she tried hard to think. At last her lover was coming to her ; he would ask her what she was prepared to do : what would she answer? Then, again, the joy of the thought that she was about to see him drove every other consideration out of her mind. How soon might he be here? Hurriedly she went to a jar of flowers on the table, chose some scarlet geraniums, and turned to a mir- ror. Her haste did not avail much, for her fingers were still trembling ; but that was the color he had said, on one occasion, suited her best. She had not been wearing flowers in her hair of late. From time to time, for a second or so, some thought of her father intervened. But then her father had only enjoined her to dismiss forever the hope of her marrying the man to whom she had given her heart and her life : that could not prevent her lov- ing him, and seeing him, and telling him that her love was his. She wished the geraniums were less rose-red and more scarlet in hue. It was the scarlet he had approved of — that evening that he and she and the little Polish lady had dined together. She had not long to wait. With a (]uick, intense conscious- ness she heard the hansom drive up, and the rapid knock that followed; her heart throbbed through the seconds of silence; then she knew that he was ascending the stair; then it seemed 198 SUNRISE. to her as if the life would go out of her altogether. But when he flung the door open and came toward her; when he caught her two hands in his — one hand in each hand — and held them tight ; when, in a silence that neither cared to break, he gazed into her rapidly moistening eyes — then the full tide of joy and courage returned to her heart, and she was proud that she had sent him that answer. For some seconds — to be remembered during a lifetime — they regarded each other in silence; then he released her hands, and began to put back the hair from her fore- head as if he would see more clearly into the troubled deeps of her eyes; and then, somehow — perhaps to hide her crying — she buried her face in his breast, and his arms were around her, and she was sobbing out all the story of her waiting and her despair. " What !" said he, cheerfully, to calm and reassure her, " the brave Natalie to be frightened like that !" "I was alone," she murmured. "I had no one to speak to; and I could not understand. Oh, my love, my love, you do not know what you are to me !'' He kissed her ; her cheeks were wet. " Natalie," said he, in a low voice, " don't forget this : we may be separated — that is possible — I don't know; but if we live fifty years apart from each other — if you never hear one word more from me or of me — be sure of this, that I am thinking of you always, and loving you, as I do at this moment when my arms are around you. Will you remember that? will you be- lieve that — always?" " I could not think otherwise," she answered. " But now that you are with me — that I can hear you speak to me — " And at this point her voice failed her altogether; and he could only draw her closer to him, and soothe and caress her, and stroke the raven-black hair that had never before thrilled his fino-ers with its soft, strange touch. " Perhaps," she said at last, in a broken and hesitating voice, " yon will blame me for having said what I have said. I have had no girl-companions ; scarcely any woman to tell me what I should do and say. But — but — I thought you were going to America — I thought I should never see you again — I was lonely and miserable ; and when I saw you again, how could I help say- ing I was glad ? How could I help saying that, and more ? — for I never knew it till now. Oh, my love, do you know that you A PKOMISE. 19!) have become the whole world to me ? Who« you arc away from me, I would rather die than live !" " Natalie— my life !" "1 must say that to you — once — that you may understand — if we should never see each other again. And now — " She gently released herself from his embrace, and went and sat down by the table. He took a chair near her and held her liand. She would not look up, for her eyes were still wet with tears. "And now," she said, making a great effort to regain her self- control, " you must tell me about yourself. A woman may liave her feelings and fancies, and cry over them when she is afraid or alone ; that is nothing ; it is the way of the world. It is a man's fate that is of importance." " You must not talk like that, Natalie," said he, gravely. " Our fate is one. Without you, I don't value my life more than this bit of geranium-leaf; with you, life would be worth having." " And you must not talk like that cither," she said. " Your life is valuable to others. Ah, my dear friend, that is what I have been trying to console myself with of late. I said, ' Well, if he goes away and does not see me again, will he not be freer? He has a great work to do ; he may have to go away from Eng- land for many years ; why should he be encumbered with a wife i" " It was your father, I presume, who made those suggestions to you ?" said Brand, regarding her. " Yes ; papa said something like that," she answered, quite in- nocently. " That is what would naturally occur to him ; his work has always the first place in his thoughts. And with you, too ; is it not so V " No." She looked up quickly. "I will be quite frank with you, Natalie. You have the first place in my thoughts ; I hope you ever will have, while I am a living man. But cannot I give the Society all the work that is in me equally well, whether I love you or whether I don't, whether you become ray wife or whether you do not? I have no doubt your father has been talking to you as he has been talking to me." She placed her disengaged hand on the top of his, and said, gently, 200 SUNRISE. " My father perhaps docs not quite understand you ; perhaps he is too anxious. I, for one, am not anxious — about that. Do you know how 1 trust you, my dearest of friends ? Sometimes I have said to myself, ' I will ask him for a pledge, 1 will say to him that he must promise, that he must swear to me, that what- ever happens as between him and me, nothing, nothing, nothing in all the world will induce him to give up what he has under- taken ;' but then again I have said to myself, ' No, I can trust him for that.' " " I think you may, Natalie," said he, rather absently. " And yet what could have led me to join such a movement but your own noble spirit — the glamour of your voice — the thanks of your eyes ? You put madness into my blood with your singing." "Do you call it madness?" she said, with a faint tlush in the pale olive face. " Is it not rather kindness — is it not justice to others — the desire to help — something that the angels in heaven jnust feel when they look down and see what a great misery there is in the world ?" " I think you are an angel yourself, Natalie," said he, quite simply, " and that you have come down and got among a lot of people who don't treat you too well. However, we must come to the present moment. You spoke of America: now what do you know about that ?" The abrupt question stai'tled her. She had been so overjoyed to see him — her whole soul was so buoyant and radiant with happiness — that she had quite forgotten or dismissed the vague fears that had been of late besetting her. But she proceeded to tell him, with a little hesitation here and there, and with a con- siderable smoothing down of phrases, what her father had said to her. She tried to make it appear quite reasonable. And all she prayed for was that, if he were sent away to America, if they had to part for many years, or forever, she should be permitted to say good-bye to him. " We are not parted yet," said Brand, briefly. The fact was, he had just got a new key to the situation. So that threat about America could serve a double purpose? He was now more than ever convinced that Ferdinand Lind was merely playing off and on with him until this money question should be settled; and that he had been resolved all tlie time that his daughter should not marry. He was beginning to understand. A PROMISE. 201 '* Natalie," said be, slowly, " I told you I had soinetliinci: to say to you. You know your fatlicf \vi\)tc to iiic iu tbu North, asking mo neither to see you nur write to you until some matter be- tween him and me was settled. Well, I respected his wish until I should knuw what the thing was. Now that I do know, it seems to me that you are as umch concerned as any one ; and that it is not reasonable, it is not possible, I should refrain from seeing you and consulting you." " No one shall prevent your seeing me, when it is your wish," said the girl, in a low voice. " This, then, is the point : you know enough about the Socie- ty to understand, and there is no particular secret. Your father wishes me to enter the higher grade of ofHcers, under the Coun- cil ; and the first condition is that one surrenders up every far- thing of one's property." "Yes?" He stared at her. Her "Yes?" — witU its affectionate inter- est and its absolute absence of surprise — was almost the exact equivalent of Lord Evelyn's " ^Vell V " Perhaps you would advise me to consent ?" he said, almost in the way of a challenge. " Ah, no," she said, with a smile. " It is not for me to advise on such things. "What you decide for yourself, that will be right." "But you don't understand, my darling. Supposing I were ambitious of getting higher office, wliich I am not; supposing I were myself willing to sell my property to swell the funds of the Society — and I don't think I should be willing in any case — do you think T would part with what ought to belong to my wife — to von, Natalie ? Do you think I would have you marry a beg- gar — one dependent on the indulgence of people unknown to iiim ?" And now there was a look of real alarm on the girl's face. "Ah!" she said, quickly. "Is not that what my father fear- ed? You are thinking of me when you should think of others. Already I — I — interfere with your duty ; I tempt you — " " My darling, be calm, be reasonable. There is no duty in the matter; your father acknowledges that himself. It is a proposal I am free to accept or reject, as I please ; and now I promise you that, as you won't give me any advice, I shall decide without thinking of you at all. Will that satisfy you?" 9* 202 SUNRISE. She remained silent for a second or two, and then she said, thoug'htfullj, " Perhaps you could decide just as if there were no possibility of my ever being your wife V "To please you, I will assume that too." Then she said, after a bit, " One word more, dearest ; you must grant me this — that I may always be able to think of it when I am alone and far from you, and be able to reassure myself : it is the promise I thought I could do so well without. Now you will give it me ?" "What promise?" " That whatever happens to you or to me, whatever my father demands of me, and wherever you may liave to go, you will never withdraw from what you have undertaken." He met the earnest, pleading look of those beautiful eyes with- out flinching. His heart was light enough, so far as such a prom- ise was concerned. Heavier oaths than that lay on him. "That is simple enough, Natalie," said he. "I promise you distinctly that nothing shall cause me to swerve from my alle- giance to the Society ; I will give absolute and implicit obedience, and the best of such work as I can do. But they must not ask me to foi'get my Natalie." She rose, still holding his hand, and stood by him, so that he could not quite see her face. Then she said, in a very low voice indeed, "Dearest, may I give you a ring? — you do not wear one at all—" " But surely, Natalie, it is for me to choose a ring for you ?" " Ah, it is not that I mean," she said, quickly, and with her face flushing. " It is a ring that will remind you of the promise you have given me to-day — when we may not be able to see each other." KIRSKI. 203 CHAPTER XXYII. KIKSKI. To this pale student from the lieiiding-room of the British Museum, us he stands on a bridge crossing one of the smaller canals, surely the scene around him must seem one fitted to glad- den the heart; for it is Venice at mid-day, in glowing sunlight: the warm crcani-white fronts of the marble palaces and casement- ed houses, the tall campanill with their golden tips, the vast and glittering domes of the churches, all rising fair and dream-like into the intense dark-blue of a cloudless sky. How the hot sun- light brings out all the beautiful color of the place — the richly laden fruit-stalls in the Riva dei Schiavoni ; the russet and saffron sails of the vessels ; the canal-boats coming in to the steps with huge open tuns of purple wine to be ladled out with copper buckets ; and then all around the shining, twinkling plain of the green-hued sea, catching here and there a reflection from the soft- ly red walls of San Giorgio and the steel-gray gleaming domes of Santa Maria della Salute. Then the passers-by : these are not like the dusky ghosts that wander through the pale-blue mists of Bloomsbury. Here comes a buxom water-carrier, in her orange petticoat and sage-green shawl, who has the two copper cans at the end of the long piece of wood poised on her shoulders, pretty nearly filled to the brim. Then a couple of the gayer gondoliers in white and blue, with fancy waist- belts, and rings in their ears. A procession of black- garbed monks wends slowly along; they have come from the silence of the Armenian convent over there at the horizon. Some wandering minstrels shoot their gondola into the mouth of the canal, and strike up a gay waltz, while they watch the shaded balconies above. Here is a Lascar ashore from the big steamer that is to start for Alexandria on the morrow. A company of soldiers, with blue coats, canvas trousers, and white gaiters, half march and half trot along to the quick, crackling music of the buglers. A swarthy-visaged maiden, with the calm brow of a 204 SUNRISE. Madonna, appears in tlic twilight of a balcony, with a packet of maize in her hand, and in a minute or two she is surrounded with a cloud of pio-eons. Then this beggar — a child of eight or ten — red-haired and blue-eyed: surely she has stepped out of one of Titian's pictures? She whines and whimpers her prayer to him ; but there is something in her look that he has seen elsewhere. It belongs to another century. From these reveries Mr. Gathorne Edwards was aroused by some one tapping him on the shoulder. It was Calabressa. "My dear Monsieur Edouarts," said he, in a low voice — for the red-haired little beggar was still standing there expectant — " he has gone over to the shipping-place. AVe must follow later on. Meanwhile, regard this letter that has just been forwarded to me. Ah, you English do not forget your promises !" Edwards threw a piece of money to the child, who passed on. Then he took the letter and read it. It was in French. "Dear Calabressa, — I want you to tell me what you have done with Yakov Kirski. They seem unwilling to say here, and I do not choose to inquire further. But I undertook to look after him, and I understood he was getting on very well, and now you have carried him off. I hope it is with no intention of allowing him to go back to Russia, where he will simply make an attempt at murder, and fall into the hands of the police. Do not let the poor devil go and make a fool of himself. If you want money to send him back to England, show this letter, or forward it to Messrs. , who will give you what you want. " Your friend, George Brand. "RS. — I have seen your beautiful caged little bird. I can say no more at present, but that she shall not suffer through any neglect of mine." " What is that about the caged bird ?" said Edwards. "Ah, the caged bird?" said Calabressa. "The caged bird? — do you see, that is a metaphor. It is nothing ; one makes one's little joke. But I was saying, my dear friend, that you English do not promise, and then forget. No ; he says, ' I will befriend this poor devil of a Kirski ;' and here he comes inquiring after him. Now I must answer the letter; you will accompany me. Monsieur Edouarts ? Ten minutes in my little room, and it is done." KIR8KI. 205 So the two walked away together. This Edwards who now accompanied (.'ahibressa was a iiiaii of about thirty, who looked youiiijer; tall, fair, with a slight stoop, a large forehead, and blue eyes that stared near-sightedly through spectacles. The ordinary expression of his face was grave even to melancholy, but his oc- casional smile was humorous, and when he laughed the laugh was soft and light like that of a child, llis knowledge of modern lano-uages was considered to be almost unrivalled, though he had travelled but little. When, in this little room, Calabressa had at length finished bis letter and dusted it over with sand, he was not at all loath to show it to this master of modern speech. Calabressa was proud of his French ; and if he would himself have acknowledged that it was perhaps here and there of doubtful idiom and of phonetic spelling, would he not have claimed for it that it was fluent, in- cisive, and ornate ? " My valued friend, it is not permitted me to answer your questions in precise terms; but he to whom you have had the goodness to extend your bountiful protection is well and safe, and under my own care. No ; he goes not back to Russia. His thoughts are different; his madness travels in other directions; it is no longer revenge, it is adoration and gratitude that his heart holds. And you, can you not guess who has worked the miracle? Think of this: you have a poor wretch who is dis- tracted by injuries and suffering; he goes away alone into Eu- rope; he is buffeted about with the winds of hunger and thirst and cold ; he cannot speak ; he is like a dog — a wild beast that people drive away from their door. And all at once some one addresses him in gentle tones : it is the voice of an angel to him ! You plough and harrow the poor wretch's heart with suffering and contempt and hopelessness, until it is a desert, a wilderness ; but some one, by accident, one day drops a seed of kindness into it, and behold ! the beautiful flower of love springing up, and all the man's life going into it! Can you understand — you who ought to understand? Were you not present when the bewil- dered, starved, hunted creature heard that gentle voice of pity, like an angel speaking from heaven? And if the beautiful girl, who will be the idol of my thoughts through my remaining years, if she does not know that she has rescued a human soul from despair, you will tell her — tell her from me, from Caia- 206 SUNRISE. bressa. "What would not Kirski do for her? you miglit well aslc. The patient regards the physician who has cured him with grati- tude : this is more than gratitude, it is worship. AVhat she has preserved she owns; he would give his life to her, to you, to any one whom she regards with affection. For myself, I do not say such things; but she may count on me also, while one has yet life. I am yours, and hers, Calabressa." The letter was handed to Gathorne Edwards with a proud air; and he read it, and handed it back. "This man Kirski is not so much of a savage as you imagine," he said. " He learns quickly, and forgets nothing. He can re- peat all the articles of membership ; but it is No. 5 that he is particularly fond of. You have not heard him go over it, Cala- bressa ?" " I ? No. He does not waste my time that way." " His pronunciation," continued tlie younger man, with a smile, "is rather like the cracking of dry twigs. 'Article 5. Whatev- er punishment may be decreed against any Officer, Companion, or Friend of the Society may be vicariously borne by any other OflBcer, Companion, or Friend who of his own full and free con- sent acts as substitute ; the original offender becoming thereby redeemed, acquitted, and released.' And then he invariably adds : 'Whv not make me of some use? To myself my life is noth- ing.' '"' At this moment there was a tapping at the door. " It is himself," said Edwards. " Enter !" Calabressa called out. The man who now came into the room was a very different looking person from the wild, unkempt creature who had con- fronted Natalie Lind in Curzon Street. The voluminous red beard and mustache had been cropped; he wore the clothes of a decent workman, with a foreign touch here and there ; he was submissive and docile in look. " Well, where have you been, my friend ?" Calabressa said to him in Italian. Kirski glanced at Gathorne Edwards, and began to speak to him in Russian. "Will you explain for mc, little father? I have been to many churches." KIRSKI. 207 " The police will not suspect Lim if he goes there," suiJ Cala- brcssa, laiiL^liini;. "And to tiic shops in the Piazza San Marco, where the pict- ures are of the saints." "Well?" " Little father, I can find no one of the saints so beautiful as that one in Enoland that the Master Calabressa tnows." Calabressa lauii'hcd a^'ain. " Allons, nion grand enfant! Toll him that if it is only a like- ness he is hunting for, I can show him one." With that he took out from his breast-pocket a small pocket- book, opened it, found a certain photograph, and put it on the table, shoving it over toward Kirski. The dim-eyed Russian did not dare to touch it ; but he stooped over it, and he put one trembling hand on each side of it, as if he would concentrate the light, and gazed at this portrait of Natalie Lind until he could see nothing at all for the tears that came into his eyes. Then he rose abruptly, and said something rapidly to Edwards. "He says, 'Take it away, or you will make me a thief. It is worth more than all the diamonds in the world.' " Calabressa did not laugh this time. He regarded the man with a look in which there was quite as much pity as curiosity. " The poor devil !" he said. " Tell him I will ask the beautiful saint whom he worships so to send him a portrait of herself with her own hands. I will. She will do as much as that for her friend Calabressa." This had scarcely been translated to Kirski when, in his sud- den gratitude, he caught Calabressa's hand and kissed it. "Tell him, also," Calabressa said, good-naturedly, "that if he is hungry before dinner-time there is sausage and bread and beer in the cupboard. But he nuist not stir out till we come back. Allons, mon bon camarade I" Calabressa lit another cigarette, and the two companions sal- lied forth. They stepped into a gondola, and presently they were being borne swiftly over the plain of light -green water. By-and-by they plunged into a varied and picturesque mass of shipping, and touched land again in front of a series of stores. The gondola was ordered to await their return. Calabressa passed without question through the lower floor of this particular building, where the people were busy with barrels 208 SUNRISE. of flour, and led the way up-stairs until he stopped at a certain door. He knocked thrice and entered. There was a siuall, dark man seated at a table, apparently engaged with some bills of lading. " You are punctual. Brother Calabrcssa." " Your time is valuable, Brother Granaglia. Let me present to you my comrade Signor Edouarts, of whom I wrote to you." The sallow-faced little man with the tired look bowed courte- ously, begged his guests to be seated, and pushed toward them a box of ciu'arettes. " Now, my Calabressa," said he, " to the point. As you guess, I am pressed for time. Seven days hence will find me in Mos- cow." " In Moscow !" exclaimed Calabressa. " You dare not !" Granaglia waved his hand a couple of inches. "Do not protest. It may be your turn to-morrow. And my good friend Calabressa would find Moscow just about as danger- ous for him as for me." " Monsieur le Secretaire, I have no wish to try. But to the point, as you say. May one ask how it stands with Zaccatelli ?" Granaglia glanced at the Englishman. "Of course he knows everything." Calabressa explained in- stantly. " IIow otherwise should I have brought him with me?""' " Well, Zaccatelli has received his warning." " Who carried it ?" " You ? You are the devil ! You thrust vour head into the lion's den !" The black -eyed, worn -faced little man seemed pleased. An odd, dry smile appeared about the thin lips. " It needed no courage at all, friend Calabressa. His Emi- nence knows who we arc, no one better. The courage was his. It is not a pleasant thing when you are told that within a cer- tain given time you will be a dead man ; but Zaccatelli did not blanch ; no, he was very polite to me. He paid us compliments. We were not like the others, Calabressa. We were good citizens and Christians ; even his Holiness might be induced to lend an ear ; why should not the Church and we be friends?" Calabressa burst out laughing. KIRSKI, 209 " Surely evil days have fallen on the Pope, Brotlicr Granai,'lia, when one of his own Cardinals proposes that he should at last couMtenaiR-e a secret society. But his Eminence was mad with fear — was it not so ? lie wanted to win you over with promises, eh? Idle words, and no more. He feeds you on wind, and sends von awav, and returns to his mistresses and his wines and his fountains of perfume ?" " Not quite so," said the other, with the same dry smile. "Uis Eminence, as I say to you, knows as well as any one in Europe who and what we are, and what is our power. The day after I called on him with my little message, what does he do — of his own free-will, mind you — but send back the daughter of old De Bedros to her home, with a pledge to her father that she shall have a dowry of ten thousand lire when she marries. The father is pleased, the daughter is not. She sits and cries. She talks of herself getting at him with a stiletto." He took a cigarette, and accepted a light from Calabressa. " Further," he continued, " his Eminence is so kind as to pro- pose to give the Council an annual subsidy from his own purse of thirty thousand lire." " Thirty thousand lire 1" Calabressa exclaimed. But at this point even Granaglia began to laugh. "Yes, yes, my friend," he said, apparently apostrophizing the absent Cardinal. " You know, then, who we are, and you do not wish to give up all your pleasures. No ; we are to become the good boy among secret societies ; we are to have the blessing of the Pope ; we are to fight Prince Bismarck for you. Prince Bis- marck has all his knights and his castles on the board; but what are they against an angelic host of bishops and some millions of comnutn pawns ? Prince Bismarck wishes to plunge Europe again into war. The Church, with this tremendous engine with- in reach, says, No. Do you wish to find eight men — eight men, at the least — out of every company of every regiment in all your corps iVarmie throw down their rifles at the first onset of battle ? You will shoot them for mutiny? My dear fellow, you cannot; the enemy is upon you. With, eight men out of each company throwing down their weapons, and determined either to desert or die, how on earth can you fight at all ? AVell, then, good Bis- marck, you had better make your peace with the Church, and re- scind those Falk laws. AVhat do you think of that scheme, Cala- 210 SUNRISE. bressa ? It was ingenious, was it not, to have come into tlie head of a man under sentence of death ?" "But the thirty thousand lire. Brother Granaglia. It is a tre- mendous bribe." " The Council does not accept bribes, Brother Calabressa," said the other, coldly. " It is decided, then, that the decree remains to be executed?" " I know nothing to the contrary. But if you wish to know for certain, you must seek the Council. They are at Naples." He pulled an ink-bottle before him, and made a motion with his forefinger. " You understand ?" " Yes, yes," Calabressa answered. " And I will go on to Na- ples, Brother Granaglia; for I have with me one who I think will carry out the wishes of the Council effectively, so far as his Emi- nence the Cardinal is concerned." " Who is he ?" said the other, but with no great interest. *' Yakov Kirski. lie is a Russian." CHAPTER XXYIII. A CLIMAX. It was a momentous decision that George Brand had to arrive at; and yet he scarcely seemed to be aware of it. The man had changed so much during these past six months. "Do you know, Evelyn," he was saying to his friend, on the very evening on which his answer was to be given to Ferdinand Lind, " I am beginning to look on that notion of my going to America with anything but dislike. Rather the opposite, indeed. I should like to get rid of a lot of old associations, and start in a new and wider field. With another life to lead, don't you want another sort of world to live it in ?" Lord Evelyn regarded him. No one had observed with a closer interest the gradual change that had come over this old friend of his. And he was proud of it, too ; for had it not been partly of his doing? " One does not breathe free air here," Brand continued, rather absently — as if his mental vision was fixed on tlie greater spaces A CLIMAX, 211 beyond the seas. "With a new sort of life beginning, wouldn't it be better to start it under new conditions — feeling yourself un- hampered — with nothing around you to disturb even tlie foolish- ness of your dreams and hopes ? Then you could work away at your best, leaving the result to time." " I know perfectly what all that means," Lord Evelyn said. "You are anxious to get away from Lind. You believe in your work, but you don't like to be associated with him." " Perhaps I know a little more than you, Evelyn," said Brand, gently, " of Lind's relation to the Society. Ue does not repre- sent it to me at all. He is only one of its servants, like ourselves. But don't let us talk about him." " You must talk about him," Lord Evelyn said, as he pulled out his watch. " It is now seven. At eight you go to the initia- tion of Molyneux, and you have promised to give Lind his answer to-night. Well ?" Brand was playing idly with a pocket-pencil. After a minute or two, he said, " I promised Xatalie to consider this thing without any refer- ence to her whatever — that I would decide just as if there was no possibility of her becoming my wife. I promised that; but it is hard to do, Evelyn. I have tried to imagine my never hav- ing seen her, and that I had been led into this affair solely through you. Then 1 do think that if you had come to me and said that my giving up every penny I possess would forward a good work — would do indirect benefit to a large number of peo- ple, and so forth — I do think I could have said, ' All right, Eve- lyn ; take it.' I never cared much for money ; I fancy I could get on pretty well on a sovereign a week. I say that if you had come to me with this request — " " Precisely," Lord Evelyn said, quickly. " You would have said yes, if I had come to you. But because it is Lind, whom you distrust, you fall away from the licight of self-sacrifice, and regard the proposal from the point of view of the N\'aldegrave Club. Mind you, I am not counselling you one way or the other. I am only pointing out to you that it is your dislike of Lind that prevents your doing what you otherwise would have done." " Very well," said the other, boldly. " Have I not reason to distrust him i IIow can I explain his conduct and his implied threats e.\cept on the supposition that he has been merely play- 212 SL'NRISE. ing with me, as far as his daughter is concerned; and that as soon as I had handed over this property I should find it out? Oh, it is a very pretty sclieme altogether ! This heap of Eng- lish money transferred to the treasury ; Lind at length achieving his ambition of being put on the Council ; Natalie carried off to Italy; and myself granted the honor of stepping into Lind's shoes in Lisle Street. On the other hand : ' Refuse, and we pack you off to America.' Now, you know, Evelyn, one does not like to be threatened into anything T' " Then you have decided to say, No ?" He did not answer for a second or two ; when he did, his man- ner was quite changed. " I rather tliink I know wliat both you and Natalie would have me do, although you won't say so explicitly. And if you and she had come to me with this proposal, do you think there would have been any difficulty ? I should have been satisfied if she had put her hand in mine, and said, ' Thank you.' Then I should have reminded her that she was sacrificing something too." He relapsed into silence again ; Lord Evelyn was vaguely con- scious that the minutes were passing by, and that his friend seem- ed as far off as ever from any decision. " You remember the old-fashioned rose-garden, Evelyn ?" " At the Beeches ? Yes." " Don't you think Natalie would like the view from that side of the house ? And if she chose that side, I was thinking of having a conservatory built all the length of the rooms, with steps opening out into the rose-garden. She could go out there for a stroll of a mornino-." So these had been his dreams. " If I go to America," he said presently, " I should expect you to look after the old place a little bit. You might take your sis- ters there occasionally, and turn them loose; it wants a woman's hand here and there. Mrs. Alleyne would put you up all right; and of course I should send Waters down, and give up those rooms in Buckingham Street." " But I cannot imagine your going to America, somehow," Lord Evelyn said. " Surely there is plenty for you to do here." " I will say this of Lind, that he is not an idle talker. What he says he means. Besides, Molyneux can take up my work in the Nortli ; he is the very man." A CLIMAX. 213 Again silence. It was now half-past seven. "I wisli, tliouf,fli, it liad been somctliint^ more excitiiiir," Brand said. "I sbuuld not have niindt-d liaving a turn at the Syrian business; I am not much afraid of risking my neck. There is not much danger in Philadelj)liia." " But look here, Brand," said Lord Evelyn, regarding him at- tentively. "You are speaking with great equanimity about your going to America ; possibly you might like the change well enough ; but do I understand you that you are prepared to go alone ?" Brand looked up ; he understood what was meant. " If I am ordered — yes." lie held out his right hand ; on the third finger there was a massive gold ring — a plain hoop, without any motto or design whatever. " There," said he, " is the first ring I ever wore. It was given to me this afternoon, to remind me of a promise ; and that prom- ise is to me more binding than a hundred oaths." He rose with a sigh. "Ah, well, Evelyn, whatever happens we will not complain. There have been compensations." "But you have not told me what answer you mean to give to Lind." "Suppose I wait until I see him before deciding?" " Then you will say. No. You have allowed your distrust of him to become a sort of mania, and the moment you see him the mere sight of him will drive you into antagonism." " I tell you what I wish I could do, Evelyn," said the other, lauo-hin